Claiming Back Their Heritage: Indigenous Empowerment and Community Development through World Heritage (Heritage Studies) 3031400623, 9783031400629

Table of contents :
Preface and Acknowledgements
Bibliography
Contents
Abbreviations
List of Boxes
List of Figures
List of Tables
Chapter 1: Introduction
1.1 UNESCO World Heritage
1.2 Indigenous Issues with Heritage
1.3 The Three Case Studies
1.4 Methodology and Scope
1.5 The Structure of the Study
1.6 On Terminology and Language
Bibliography
Interviews and Personal Communication
Literature
Chapter 2: Ideas, Concepts and Uses of Heritage
2.1 Discourses of Heritage
2.1.1 Heritage as Product and Process
2.1.2 The Rise of Heritage
2.1.3 Critical Discourse Analysis
2.1.4 The `Authorized Heritage Discourse´
2.1.5 Indigenous Heritage Discourses
2.2 Uses of Heritage as Cultural Concept and Process: Identity, Memory, Place
2.2.1 Heritage as Representation of the Past, Present and Future
2.2.2 Heritage and Identity
2.2.3 Heritage and Memory
2.2.4 Heritage and Place
2.3 The Concept of World Heritage: UNESCO and Canada
2.3.1 UNESCO´s Concept of Heritage
2.3.2 Creating a World Heritage Site: The Nomination Process
2.3.3 The Representation of Cultural Diversity
2.3.4 Heritage in Canada: National, Regional, Local
2.4 Landscape as Heritage
2.4.1 Cultural Landscapes as World Heritage Category
2.4.2 Ideas of Landscape
2.4.3 The Indigenous Lens of Landscape: Living and Reading the Land
2.5 Heritage and Museums
2.5.1 The Roles and Functions of Museums: From Traditional to New Museology
2.5.2 Exhibiting Cultures and Representing `Otherness´
2.5.3 The Rise of Indigenous Museology: Self-Representation and Repatriation
2.6 The Heritage Industry: Tourism and Management
2.6.1 World Heritage and Tourism: Education, Entertainment and Experience
2.6.2 The Management of a World Heritage Site
Bibliography
Literature
Chapter 3: Indigenous Empowerment and Community Development through Heritage
3.1 Empowerment, Capacity Building and Community Development
3.1.1 Empowerment
3.1.2 Capacity Building
3.1.3 Community Development
3.2 Community Participation and Engagement
3.2.1 Theorizing Engagement and Involvement: Models of Participation
3.2.2 Participation, Power and Space
3.2.3 Social Spaces of Clashing Cultures: Contact and Engagement Zones
3.3 Building Community Capacity: Indigenous Models and Strategies
3.3.1 Integrated and Bi-cultural Engagement Models
3.3.2 Sacred Circles: The Medicine Wheel Paradigm
3.3.3 GONA and the CIRCLE Model
3.4 Connections and Constellations: Indigenous Knowledge, Worldviews, Heritage
3.4.1 Indigenous Cosmologies and Worldviews
3.4.2 The Importance of Traditional Knowledge
3.4.3 A Sense of Place: Narratives and Naming
3.5 Indigenous Rights and Interests: Heritage, Language, Culture
3.5.1 Recognizing Indigenous Rights and Interests
3.5.2 Community Development and Indigenous Tourism
3.5.3 Cultural Programs: Language and Youth
3.6 A Framework for Heritage Use and Community Development
3.6.1 The Heart of the Map: The Indigenous World Heritage Site
3.6.2 Framing the Site: Ownership, Control, Tourism and Resources
3.6.3 Empowerment, Capacity Building and Community Development through Heritage
Bibliography
Interviews and Personal Communication
Literature
Chapter 4: Consultation and Communication: Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump
4.1 The World Heritage Site of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump
4.1.1 Description and Designation
4.1.2 Blackfoot Consultation in the Designation and Interpretation Processes
4.2 The Blackfoot and the Buffalo: History and Culture of a People and a Place
4.2.1 The Blackfoot: Their Traditional Culture and Way of Life
4.2.2 Indigenous Buffalo Hunting on the Northern Plains
4.2.3 Contact and Colonialism
4.2.4 The Blackfoot Nations Today
4.3 Operation and Ownership of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump
4.3.1 Ownership, Management and Funding of HSIBJ
4.3.2 Indigenous Involvement in the Operation and Management
4.3.3 Chances and Challenges of Working at HSIBJ
4.4 The Interpretive Centre
4.4.1 Design and Structure of the Interpretive Centre
4.4.2 Artifacts and Replica: A Discussion of Displays
4.4.3 The Development of the Narrative: Authorized Interpretation and Knowledge
4.5 ``It´s all Part of the Story´´: Blackfoot Voice in Narratives and Storylines
4.5.1 The `Core Message´: Whose Story Is It?
4.5.2 Filling in the Blanks: Blackfoot Recreating the Story
4.5.3 The Past Versus the Present: The Importance of Telling a Contemporary Story
4.6 Looking for ``Authentic Indians´´: Visitors´ Expectations and Education
4.6.1 Visitors´ Expectations and Experiences
4.6.2 Programs and Experiences for Children and Youth
4.6.3 The Tipi Camp
4.7 ``Claiming the Site as Their Own´´: Indigenous Involvement at HSIBJ
4.7.1 A Place of Blackfoot Culture and Tradition
4.7.2 Education through Heritage
4.7.3 Sharing Versus Selling Out: Indigenous Engagement and Management
4.8 ``The Place is Part of Us´´: Building Community Capacity for the Future
4.8.1 Blackfoot Empowerment and Community Development through HSIBJ
4.8.2 Blackfoot Agency and Community Capacity
4.8.3 Where to Go from Here?
Bibliography
Interviews and Personal Communication
Literature
Chapter 5: Collaboration and Cooperation: SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas
5.1 The World Heritage Site of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas
5.1.1 Description and Significance of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas
5.1.2 Protection of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas
5.2 The Haida of Haida Gwaii: History and Culture of a People and a Place
5.2.1 Haida Society and Culture
5.2.2 Haida History from Times of Contact to the Twentieth Century
5.2.3 From Colonialism to Reclaiming Their Land: Into the Twenty-First Century
5.3 Collaboration and Control: A Model for Cooperative Management
5.3.1 Agreements and Protocols: The Road to Cooperative Management
5.3.2 ``Everything Depends on Everything Else´´: The Gwaii Haanas Land-Sea-People Plan
5.3.3 Collaborations for Planning and Management
5.4 ``Celebrating the Living Culture of the Haida´´: Representation and Repatriation at the Haida Heritage Centre and the Haid...
5.4.1 The Haida Heritage Centre at ay Llnagaay
5.4.2 The Haida Gwaii Museum
5.4.3 Bringing Haida Ancestors and Treasures Home: The Repatriation Process
5.5 ``They Realize Who We Really Are´´: Tourism and Resource Management
5.5.1 Tourism and Recreation
5.5.2 Benefits and Challenges of Tourism for the Haida
5.5.3 Resource Management
5.6 Community Commitment and Communication: Programs and Learning
5.6.1 Learning on the Land: The Haida Gwaii Watchmen Program
5.6.2 Rediscovering Haida Heritage: Culture Camps and Youth Education
5.6.3 Education Enhancement: Embracing Haida Culture and Knowledge
5.7 ``That Which Makes Us Haida´´: The Haida Language
5.7.1 Language Is at the Heart of a Culture
5.7.2 Teaching the Haida Language
5.7.3 Edge of the Knife: Revival of Language through Film
5.8 ``Equals on All Levels´´: A Way into the Future
5.8.1 Haida Empowerment and Community Development through World Heritage
5.8.2 ``Making Things Right´´: Reconciliation and Resolutions for Resources
5.8.3 ``We Are a Part of It´´: The Future of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas
Bibliography
Interviews and Personal Communication
Literature
Chapter 6: Indigenous Independence, Resilient Relations: The Tr´ondëk-Klondike
6.1 The Proposed World Heritage Site of Tr´ondëk-Klondike
6.1.1 Description of the Proposed Site of Tr´ondëk-Klondike
6.1.2 The Tr´ondëk-Klondike as a Continuing Cultural Landscape
6.1.3 Preparing and Withdrawing of the Nomination, 2004-2018
6.1.4 Discussions and Critical Concerns of the Nomination of 2017
6.1.5 Indigenous Involvement and Collaboration in the Nomination Process
6.2 The Tr´ondëk Hwëch´in: A History of a People and a Place
6.2.1 Life on the Land
6.2.2 The Klondike Gold Rush and the Relocation of the Tr´ondëk Hwëch´in, 1896-1910
6.2.3 Silent Years After the Gold Rush, 1910-1950
6.2.4 The Path to Self-Determination and Self-Government, 1970 to 2000
6.2.5 Envisioning the Future: Into the Twenty-First Century
6.3 Management, Ownership and Protection of the Tr´ondëk-Klondike
6.3.1 Management and Ownership of the Sites Within the Proposed Property
6.3.2 The Management of Tr´ondëk Hwëch´in Heritage Sites
6.3.3 The Tr´ondëk Hwëch´in Heritage Act
6.4 Visitors´ Views and Resource Management: Klondike Tourism and Mining
6.4.1 Public Perception: The Living Myth of the Klondike Gold Rush
6.4.2 Looking for the Trip of a Lifetime: Tourism in Dawson City
6.4.3 The Issue of Mining Within a Developing Landscape
6.5 Representing and Interpreting the Tr´ondëk-Klondike
6.5.1 Parks Canada Buildings and Programs
6.5.2 The Dawson City Museum
6.5.3 The National Historic Site of Tr´ochëk
6.6 Custodian of a Living Heritage: The Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre
6.6.1 Gateway to Tr´ondëk Hwëch´in Heritage
6.6.2 Expectations and Education of Visitors
6.6.3 Dänojà Zho as a Community Centre
6.7 Community Commitment: Education and Healing through Heritage
6.7.1 Teaching Traditional Knowledge and Heritage
6.7.2 Culture Camps on the Land: First Hunt and First Fish
6.7.3 Language Programs
6.7.4 Reclaiming Songs and Dances: The Moosehide Gathering
6.8 ``To Tell a Balanced Perspective´´: The Future of Tr´ondëk-Klondike
6.8.1 Tr´ondëk Hwëch´in Empowerment and Community Development through Heritage
6.8.2 Heritage and Self-Government of the Tr´ondëk Hwëch´in
6.8.3 Towards an Inscription of the Tr´ondëk-Klondike as a World Heritage Site
Bibliography
Interviews and Personal Communication
Literature
Chapter 7: Conclusion: Where to from Here?
7.1 The Three Case Studies: Stages of Participation and Empowerment
7.2 Indigenizing the World Heritage Program
7.3 Towards an Indigenous Cultural Landscape Approach
7.4 Perceptions of Indigenous Heritage and Preservations of the Past
Bibliography
Literature
Appendices
Appendix A: World Heritage Sites in Canada and the United States
Appendix B: Interview Questions Guide for Site Managers and Staff
Appendix C: Questionnaire for Visitors at Heritage Sites

Citation preview

Heritage Studies

Geneviève Susemihl

Claiming Back Their Heritage Indigenous Empowerment and Community Development through World Heritage

Heritage Studies Series Editor Marie-Theres Albert, Internationale Akademie Berlin für innovative Pädagogik, Psychologie und Ökonomie gGmbH (INA), Institut Heritage Studies (IHS), Berlin, Germany Editorial Board Members Verena Aebischer, University Paris Ouest Nanterre la Défense, Nanterre Cedex, France Christina Cameron, University of Montreal, Montreal, QC, Canada Claire Cave, University College Dublin, Dublin, Ireland Magdalena Droste, Brandenburg University of Technology Cottbus-Senftenberg, Cottbus, Germany Jennifer Harris, Curtin University, Perth, Australia Ana Pereira Roders, Delft University of Technology, DELFT, Zuid-Holland, The Netherlands Anca Claudia Prodan, Institute Heritage Studies, Tauer, Germany Birgitta Ringbeck, Federal Foreign Office of Germany, Berlin, Germany Sabine von Schorlemer, Technische Universität Dresden, Dresden, Sachsen, Germany Helaine Silverman, Anthropology Department, University of Illinois at Urbana Champaign, Champaign, IL, USA Jutta Ströter-Bender, University of Paderborn, Paderborn, Germany

The idea to publish this scientific series emerged as a result of the transformation process of heritage from a cultural and natural asset that provides history and identity to a commodity with economic interests. Its contextual framework is provided by the UNESCO Convention Concerning the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage (1972), the UNESCO Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage (2003) and the UNESCO Memory of the World Programme. The research focus of the series is the wide range of applications and constructions of heritage associated with the above-named standard-setting instruments and their corresponding perceptions and paradigms. The reason for this is the fact that despite – or perhaps because of – these standard-setting instruments on the protection of heritage, there is an enormous variety in the understandings of what heritage is, could be or should be. Different interpretations of heritage are evident in diverse structures and perceptions, from material to immaterial, from static to dynamic or even from individual to social or cultural. These interpretations were expressed in paradigms formulated in very different ways, e.g. saying that heritage has an inherent cultural value or ascribing importance for sustainable human development to heritage. Diverse perceptions of heritage are associated with conservation and use concepts as well as with their underlying disciplines, including inter- and transdisciplinary networks. Regionally and internationally, theoretically and practically, individually and institutionally, the epistemological process of understanding heritage still finds itself in its infancy. Insofar the new series Heritage Studies is overdue. The series aims to motivate experienced and young scholars to conduct research systematically in the broad field of Heritage Studies and to make the results of research available to the national and international, theoretically- and practicallyoriented, disciplinarily and interdisciplinarily established heritage community. The series is structured according to the key UNESCO conventions and programmes for heritage into three sections focusing on: World Heritage, Intangible Cultural Heritage and Memory of the World. Although the conventions and programmes for heritage provide a framework, the series distinguishes itself through its attempt to depart from the UNESCO-related political and institutional context, which dominates the heritage discourse today, and to place the theme of heritage in a scientific context so as to give it a sound and rigorous scientific base. To this end, each of the three main sections addresses four dimensions of the heritage discourse broadly framed as Theory and Methods, Paradigms, History and Documents, and Case Studies.

Geneviève Susemihl

Claiming Back Their Heritage Indigenous Empowerment and Community Development through World Heritage

Geneviève Susemihl English Department Kiel University Kiel, Germany

Heritage Studies ISBN 978-3-031-40062-9 ISBN 978-3-031-40063-6 https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-40063-6

(eBook)

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland Paper in this product is recyclable.

Preface and Acknowledgements

If you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together. Lilla Watson, Aboriginal educator and activist (Invisible Children 2019)

This book is based on several years of research and documents a personal journey of exploration, exhilaration and wonder. In an academic sense, the journey is unconventional and filled with personal experiences with people, landscapes and heritage. I have come to listen and learn and to tell a story – or three stories, to be precise. Everything in life “is a story” claims the Canadian writer Thomas King (2003), and archeologist Jack Brink was once given the advice not to let scientific facts get in the way of a great story (Brink 2008). In this book, I try to connect ancient stories that surround people and places to present and future stories of Indigenous heirs and heritage. Asked to name the greatest accomplishments of ancient cultures and the greatest heritage sites on earth many people would probably name the Great Pyramids, the Great Wall of China or the civilizations that ruled ancient Greece and Rome. Thrust aside have been many cultures that achieved ‘greatness’ through their knowledge, skill and ingenuity and that managed to survive in difficult environments without leaving monumental testaments to themselves. These are the stories of uncelebrated and almost anonymous groups of people who hunted, fished and gathered for a living. These are the stories of the three World Heritage sites of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, SGang Gwaay and Tr’ondëk-Klondike and of the Blackfoot, Haida and Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in involvement with these places. It is considered inappropriate to write about Indigenous issues, especially as a non-Indigenous person, without explicitly positioning oneself and the contribution one wishes to make. For me, this positioning is necessary because my research involves myself, as the Jewish scholar Arnold Krupat stated: “rather than my origins explaining my ends, my ends, it seems, have forced me to consider my origins” (Krupat 1996, 127). There is no objectivity to research, but as I will be speaking to v

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Preface and Acknowledgements

you, the reader, also through my personal experiences, I need to situate myself in space and time. I am a ‘white’ German scholar and acknowledge myself as a non-Indigenous participant in the discussions and a grateful guest in the places I write about. I do not claim to speak for my interlocutors or to generalize about all Indigenous people that I have spoken to or met. What, then, do I bring to the table? My background in North American cultural, literary and media studies, sociology and education paved the way for this project. I am a German, born in the Seventies, when the Cold War divided the world into two blocs. I grew up in East Germany, a country that kept its people behind fences and their minds controlled. When the wall that had split Germany for 40 years came down in 1989, I started travelling the world. Since then, freedom and an open mind have been some of my most cherished values. My family roots stretch along the Baltic rim from Mecklenburg to what was formerly East Prussia, as far as Sankt Petersburg, Russia, and Tallinn, Estonia, and my family history connects me to many stories and migrations. For more than 20 years, I have been involved in Indigenous Studies. My research interests took me on many journeys to North America and I was fortunate to meet many Indigenous people that became mentors and friends. These experiences provided me with an incredible privilege and joy to learn from Indigenous researchers, authors, teachers, students and Elders, and some of them shared personal stories and lifelong friendship. Working on this project has also expanded and enhanced my own perspectives, and I quote Hartmut Lutz, who describes in apt words what I can relate to only too well: In the process of collaborating with Indigenous colleagues I often encountered what I would call ‘connecting moments’ in which things fell into place in such remarkable coincidences that my Western ‘enlightened’ and rational self began, after decades of denial and doubt, to humbly and gratefully accept the notion that, indeed, things are all connected. (Lutz 2018, 69)

During my ventures into Indigenous heritage, I have experienced many connections. Nevertheless, as I am reading Indigenous heritage from an outsiders’ perspective, and the outsider label “denotes my outsider position in relation to the Indigenous text” (Eigenbrod 2005, xiii). I am ‘reading’ heritage sites, tangible and intangible Indigenous heritage, and part of my position from which I read Indigenous heritage is ‘locatable’ in the ‘contrapuntal awareness’ or the ‘double vision’ (Gunew 1994, 38; also Said 1993) of my position as a German scholar. This project would not have been possible if it wasn’t for the generous financial support of different institutions. A Canadian Studies Postdoctoral Fellowship of the International Council for Canadian Studies supported me during a three-month research stay in Canada. During this time, I studied as a Postdoctoral Fellow at Carleton University with the late Herb Stovel, one of the world’s most renowned experts in heritage conservation. A Faculty Research Grant of the Canadian government enabled me to travel to Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump and Haida Gwaii to examine the sites and conduct interviews. A research grant from Kiel University supported my travels to the Yukon. A two-year postgraduate scholarship at Kiel University, finally, enabled me to devote my time to writing this book.

Preface and Acknowledgements

vii

Along the way, I have spoken to many people about their experiences in cultural heritage management. My journey proved to be a venture into the historical, scientific, cultural and spiritual world of many Indigenous people, and I am grateful for the insights and teachings of my guides and interview partners. I have benefited from conversations with many who kindly shared with me information, personal experiences and stories. I conducted interviews with leading experts on heritage and conservation studies and Canadian and Indigenous Studies. In this regard, I thank Christina Cameron, former Canada Research Chair on Built Heritage at the Université de Montréal, John Pinkerton, former International Programs Manager at Parks Canada, Ottawa, Allan J. Ryan, New Sun Chair in Aboriginal Arts and Culture at Carleton University, the late Desmond Morton, historian at McGill University, Catherine E. Bell, law professor at the University of Alberta, Edmonton, Pam Brown, curator at the Museum of Anthropology in Vancouver, and Dawn Maracle, storyteller and Mohawk community leader in Ottawa. I spoke to Elders and members of the Blackfoot, the Haida and the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in communities, and I am grateful for their sharing of time, knowledge, insight and experience and trusting me to help tell their stories. I also spoke to Parks Canada staff and other non-Indigenous people. Nitsiniiyi’taki to Quinton Crow Shoe, Stan Knowlton, Edwin Small Legs and Kiit Kiitokii of the Piikanii Nation. Thanks to Deloralie Brown, Ian Clarke, Duncan Daniels and Jim Martin at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. Háw’aa to Kii’iljuus (Barbara J. Wilson), Ernie Gladstone, Guujaaw, Laa’daa (Colin Richardson) and Jason Alsop of the Haida Nation. Thanks to Terrie Dionne, Jennifer Dysart, Jennifer Wilson, Doug Louis and Heron Wier on Haida Gwaii. Mähsi cho to Angie Joseph-Rear, Molly Shore, Sammy Taylor, Debbie Nagano and Georgette McLeod of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Nation. Thanks to Jody Beaumont, Glenda Bolt, Barbara Hogan, Alex Somerville, Vicky Roberts, Janice Cliff and Peggy Amendola in Dawson City and Whitehorse. There are many more people who were involved in this project and to whom I am indebted. Velen Dank för dien Hülp un Bistand to professor and mentor Hartmut Lutz for his long-standing support and advice. Vielen Dank to professor, mentor and colleague Christian Huck for his guidance, encouragement and critical commentary. Danke to our team of Cultural Studies scholars at the English department at Kiel University for intense academic discussions and exchanges of ideas. I wish to acknowledge the intellectual support of all the generous and kind people that helped me pursue this project and stay on track over so many years. For his indispensable help with the preparation of this manuscript, I would like to thank Garret Scally. Special thanks I owe to the faithful friends who accommodated me during my time in Canada, especially to Dawn Maracle, Kim The, Will Stroet, Jim Mackenzie and the late David Neufeld for their kind hospitality, long conversations and countless stories about the people and the land, while taking long walks, sitting on kitchen tables or canoeing on the mighty Yukon River. My most heartfelt thanks go to my husband Mathias Behrens and my children Chiara, Ravn and Tahoe who have been listening to my stories with never-ending patience and who always provided me with laughter and love.

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Some paragraphs and thoughts of this book have been published before. Sections 4.1, 4.2, 4.3, 4.4 and 5.3 are heavily revised and extended versions of two papers, “Cultural World Heritage and Indigenous Empowerment: The Sites of SGang Gwaay and Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump,” and “Totem Poles and Chicken Dance: Indigenous Cultural World Heritage in Canada” (Susemihl 2013, 2014). An earlier version of Sect. 4.7 was included in “‘We Are Key Players. . .’: Creating Indigenous Engagement and Community Control at Blackfoot Heritage Sites in Time” (Susemihl 2019). Finally, Sects. 4.2 and 4.5 are completely revised and heavily extended versions of the article “To Know the Story behind It: Aboriginal Heritage and Buffalo Hunting on the Northern Plains” (Susemihl 2021). Despite the various revisions, this book gives much more detailed insight in the uses and concepts of Indigenous heritage and tells many more fascinating and compelling stories. Kiel, Germany

Geneviève Susemihl

Bibliography Brink, Jack W. 2008. Imagining Head-Smashed-In: Aboriginal Buffalo Hunting on the Northern Plains. Edmonton: AU Press. Eigenbrod, Renate. 2005. Travelling Knowledges: Positioning the Im/Migrant Reader of Aboriginal Literatures in Canada. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press. Gunew, Sneja. 1994. Framing Marginality: Multicultural Literary Studies. Carlton, Victoria: Melbourne University Press. Invisible Children. 2019. The Origin of “Our Liberty is Bound Together,” https://invisiblechildren. com/blog/2012/04/04/the-origin-of-our-liberty-is-bound-together/ [accessed 06 Aug 2020]. King, Thomas. 2003. The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Krupat, Arnold. 1996. The Turn to the Native: Studies in Criticism & Culture. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Lutz, Hartmut. 2018. “‘They Talk, We Listen’: Indigenous Knowledges and Western Discourse,” Zeitschrift für Kanada-Studien, Sonderheft, 66–88. Said, Edward. 1993. Culture and Imperialism. London: Vintage. Susemihl, Geneviève. 2013. “Cultural World Heritage and Indigenous Empowerment: The Sites of SGang Gwaay and Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump,” Zeitschrift für Kanada-Studien, 33(1), 51–77. Susemihl, Geneviève. 2014. “Totem Poles and Chicken Dance: Indigenous Cultural World Heritage in Canada,” in: Weronika Suchacka, Uwe Zagratzki and Hartmut Lutz (eds.), Despite Harper: Intern ational Perceptions of Canadian Literature and Culture. Hamburg: Verlag Dr. Kovač, 139–151. Susemihl, Geneviève. 2019. “‘We Are Key Players. . .’: Creating Indigenous Engagement and Community Control at Blackfoot Heritage Sites in Time,” in: Mario Trono and Robert Boschman (eds.), On Active Grounds: Agency and Time in the Environmental Humanities. Waterloo, ON: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 139–163. Susemihl, Geneviève. 2021. “To Know the Story behind It: Aboriginal Heritage and Buffalo Hunting on the Northern Plains,” in: Kathy Brosnan and Brian Frehner (eds.), The Greater Plains: Rethinking a Region’s Environmental Histories . Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 66–85.

Contents

1

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1 UNESCO World Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2 Indigenous Issues with Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3 The Three Case Studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4 Methodology and Scope . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.5 The Structure of the Study . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.6 On Terminology and Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Interviews and Personal Communication . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1 3 7 10 14 17 19 21 21 21

2

Ideas, Concepts and Uses of Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1 Discourses of Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1.1 Heritage as Product and Process . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1.2 The Rise of Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1.3 Critical Discourse Analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1.4 The ‘Authorized Heritage Discourse’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1.5 Indigenous Heritage Discourses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2 Uses of Heritage as Cultural Concept and Process: Identity, Memory, Place . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.1 Heritage as Representation of the Past, Present and Future . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.2 Heritage and Identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.3 Heritage and Memory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.4 Heritage and Place . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.3 The Concept of World Heritage: UNESCO and Canada . . . . . . . . 2.3.1 UNESCO’s Concept of Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.3.2 Creating a World Heritage Site: The Nomination Process . . 2.3.3 The Representation of Cultural Diversity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.3.4 Heritage in Canada: National, Regional, Local . . . . . . . . . .

25 27 27 29 31 32 35 36 37 38 40 42 45 46 48 50 52 ix

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Contents

2.4

Landscape as Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.4.1 Cultural Landscapes as World Heritage Category . . . . . . . . 2.4.2 Ideas of Landscape . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.4.3 The Indigenous Lens of Landscape: Living and Reading the Land . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.5 Heritage and Museums . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.5.1 The Roles and Functions of Museums: From Traditional to New Museology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.5.2 Exhibiting Cultures and Representing ‘Otherness’ . . . . . . . 2.5.3 The Rise of Indigenous Museology: Self-Representation and Repatriation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.6 The Heritage Industry: Tourism and Management . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.6.1 World Heritage and Tourism: Education, Entertainment and Experience . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.6.2 The Management of a World Heritage Site . . . . . . . . . . . . Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3

Indigenous Empowerment and Community Development through Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.1 Empowerment, Capacity Building and Community Development . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.1.1 Empowerment . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.1.2 Capacity Building . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.1.3 Community Development . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2 Community Participation and Engagement . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.1 Theorizing Engagement and Involvement: Models of Participation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.2 Participation, Power and Space . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.3 Social Spaces of Clashing Cultures: Contact and Engagement Zones . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.3 Building Community Capacity: Indigenous Models and Strategies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.3.1 Integrated and Bi-cultural Engagement Models . . . . . . . . . 3.3.2 Sacred Circles: The Medicine Wheel Paradigm . . . . . . . . . 3.3.3 GONA and the CIRCLE Model . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.4 Connections and Constellations: Indigenous Knowledge, Worldviews, Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.4.1 Indigenous Cosmologies and Worldviews . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.4.2 The Importance of Traditional Knowledge . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.4.3 A Sense of Place: Narratives and Naming . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.5 Indigenous Rights and Interests: Heritage, Language, Culture . . . . 3.5.1 Recognizing Indigenous Rights and Interests . . . . . . . . . . . 3.5.2 Community Development and Indigenous Tourism . . . . . . 3.5.3 Cultural Programs: Language and Youth . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

55 56 57 60 62 62 65 68 70 70 74 78 78 89 91 91 94 96 99 99 105 107 110 111 112 114 117 117 119 121 124 125 126 129

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3.6

131

A Framework for Heritage Use and Community Development . . . . 3.6.1 The Heart of the Map: The Indigenous World Heritage Site . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.6.2 Framing the Site: Ownership, Control, Tourism and Resources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.6.3 Empowerment, Capacity Building and Community Development through Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Interviews and Personal Communication . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4

Consultation and Communication: Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.1 The World Heritage Site of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump . . . . . 4.1.1 Description and Designation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.1.2 Blackfoot Consultation in the Designation and Interpretation Processes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.2 The Blackfoot and the Buffalo: History and Culture of a People and a Place . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.2.1 The Blackfoot: Their Traditional Culture and Way of Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.2.2 Indigenous Buffalo Hunting on the Northern Plains . . . . . . 4.2.3 Contact and Colonialism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.2.4 The Blackfoot Nations Today . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3 Operation and Ownership of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump . . . . 4.3.1 Ownership, Management and Funding of HSIBJ . . . . . . . . 4.3.2 Indigenous Involvement in the Operation and Management . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.3 Chances and Challenges of Working at HSIBJ . . . . . . . . . . 4.4 The Interpretive Centre . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.4.1 Design and Structure of the Interpretive Centre . . . . . . . . . 4.4.2 Artifacts and Replica: A Discussion of Displays . . . . . . . . 4.4.3 The Development of the Narrative: Authorized Interpretation and Knowledge . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.5 “It’s all Part of the Story”: Blackfoot Voice in Narratives and Storylines . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.5.1 The ‘Core Message’: Whose Story Is It? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.5.2 Filling in the Blanks: Blackfoot Recreating the Story . . . . . 4.5.3 The Past Versus the Present: The Importance of Telling a Contemporary Story . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.6 Looking for “Authentic Indians”: Visitors’ Expectations and Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.6.1 Visitors’ Expectations and Experiences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.6.2 Programs and Experiences for Children and Youth . . . . . . 4.6.3 The Tipi Camp . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

133 134 135 136 136 136 147 149 149 153 156 157 159 162 166 169 169 172 174 179 180 183 189 192 193 195 198 200 201 205 208

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Contents

“Claiming the Site as Their Own”: Indigenous Involvement at HSIBJ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.7.1 A Place of Blackfoot Culture and Tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.7.2 Education through Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.7.3 Sharing Versus Selling Out: Indigenous Engagement and Management . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.8 “The Place is Part of Us”: Building Community Capacity for the Future . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.8.1 Blackfoot Empowerment and Community Development through HSIBJ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.8.2 Blackfoot Agency and Community Capacity . . . . . . . . . . . 4.8.3 Where to Go from Here? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Interviews and Personal Communication . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.7

5

Collaboration and Cooperation: SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.1 The World Heritage Site of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas . . . . 5.1.1 Description and Significance of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.1.2 Protection of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas . . . . . . . . . 5.2 The Haida of Haida Gwaii: History and Culture of a People and a Place . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2.1 Haida Society and Culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2.2 Haida History from Times of Contact to the Twentieth Century . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2.3 From Colonialism to Reclaiming Their Land: Into the Twenty-First Century . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.3 Collaboration and Control: A Model for Cooperative Management . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.3.1 Agreements and Protocols: The Road to Cooperative Management . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.3.2 “Everything Depends on Everything Else”: The Gwaii Haanas Land-Sea-People Plan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.3.3 Collaborations for Planning and Management . . . . . . . . . . 5.4 “Celebrating the Living Culture of the Haida”: Representation and Repatriation at the Haida Heritage Centre and the Haida Gwaii Museum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4.1 The Haida Heritage Centre at Ḵay Llnagaay . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4.2 The Haida Gwaii Museum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4.3 Bringing Haida Ancestors and Treasures Home: The Repatriation Process . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

211 211 214 217 220 220 224 227 228 228 229 239 241 241 245 248 249 252 256 260 261 263 265

269 269 272 274

Contents

“They Realize Who We Really Are”: Tourism and Resource Management . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.5.1 Tourism and Recreation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.5.2 Benefits and Challenges of Tourism for the Haida . . . . . . . 5.5.3 Resource Management . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.6 Community Commitment and Communication: Programs and Learning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.6.1 Learning on the Land: The Haida Gwaii Watchmen Program . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.6.2 Rediscovering Haida Heritage: Culture Camps and Youth Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.6.3 Education Enhancement: Embracing Haida Culture and Knowledge . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.7 “That Which Makes Us Haida”: The Haida Language . . . . . . . . . . 5.7.1 Language Is at the Heart of a Culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.7.2 Teaching the Haida Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.7.3 Edge of the Knife: Revival of Language through Film . . . . 5.8 “Equals on All Levels”: A Way into the Future . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.8.1 Haida Empowerment and Community Development through World Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.8.2 “Making Things Right”: Reconciliation and Resolutions for Resources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.8.3 “We Are a Part of It”: The Future of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Interviews and Personal Communication . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

xiii

5.5

6

Indigenous Independence, Resilient Relations: The Tr’ondëk-Klondike . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.1 The Proposed World Heritage Site of Tr’ondëk-Klondike . . . . . . . 6.1.1 Description of the Proposed Site of Tr’ondëk-Klondike . . . 6.1.2 The Tr’ondëk-Klondike as a Continuing Cultural Landscape . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.1.3 Preparing and Withdrawing of the Nomination, 2004–2018 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.1.4 Discussions and Critical Concerns of the Nomination of 2017 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.1.5 Indigenous Involvement and Collaboration in the Nomination Process . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2 The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in: A History of a People and a Place . . . . . 6.2.1 Life on the Land . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2.2 The Klondike Gold Rush and the Relocation of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, 1896–1910 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2.3 Silent Years After the Gold Rush, 1910–1950 . . . . . . . . . .

280 280 283 287 290 291 294 296 299 300 303 306 308 308 312 316 321 321 322 331 333 334 336 338 339 341 343 343 345 347

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6.2.4

The Path to Self-Determination and Self-Government, 1970 to 2000 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2.5 Envisioning the Future: Into the Twenty-First Century . . . . 6.3 Management, Ownership and Protection of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3.1 Management and Ownership of the Sites Within the Proposed Property . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3.2 The Management of Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage Sites . . . 6.3.3 The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage Act . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.4 Visitors’ Views and Resource Management: Klondike Tourism and Mining . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.4.1 Public Perception: The Living Myth of the Klondike Gold Rush . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.4.2 Looking for the Trip of a Lifetime: Tourism in Dawson City . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.4.3 The Issue of Mining Within a Developing Landscape . . . . . 6.5 Representing and Interpreting the Tr’ondëk-Klondike . . . . . . . . . . 6.5.1 Parks Canada Buildings and Programs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.5.2 The Dawson City Museum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.5.3 The National Historic Site of Tr’ochëk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.6 Custodian of a Living Heritage: The Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.6.1 Gateway to Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.6.2 Expectations and Education of Visitors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.6.3 Dänojà Zho as a Community Centre . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.7 Community Commitment: Education and Healing through Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.7.1 Teaching Traditional Knowledge and Heritage . . . . . . . . . . 6.7.2 Culture Camps on the Land: First Hunt and First Fish . . . . 6.7.3 Language Programs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.7.4 Reclaiming Songs and Dances: The Moosehide Gathering . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.8 “To Tell a Balanced Perspective”: The Future of Tr’ondëk-Klondike . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.8.1 Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Empowerment and Community Development through Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.8.2 Heritage and Self-Government of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.8.3 Towards an Inscription of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike as a World Heritage Site . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Interviews and Personal Communication . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

350 352 354 354 357 360 362 363 366 370 374 375 378 382 386 387 390 392 395 396 398 400 401 406 407 411 413 416 416 416

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xv

Conclusion: Where to from Here? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.1 The Three Case Studies: Stages of Participation and Empowerment . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.2 Indigenizing the World Heritage Program . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.3 Towards an Indigenous Cultural Landscape Approach . . . . . . . . . . 7.4 Perceptions of Indigenous Heritage and Preservations of the Past . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

423

Appendices . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Appendix A: World Heritage Sites in Canada and the United States . . . . Appendix B: Interview Questions Guide for Site Managers and Staff . . . Appendix C: Questionnaire for Visitors at Heritage Sites . . . . . . . . . . . .

443 443 445 446

7

424 428 431 435 439 439

Abbreviations

AMB CBC CHN CRHP CYFN DFO DZCC FHB FNFA FPCC HL HRC HRS HSIBJ HSMBC ICCROM ICOMOS INAC ITAC IUCN MoA NHE NHP NHS NPS NRHP NWMP OUV PC

Archipelago Management Board Canadian Broadcasting Corporation Council of the Haida Nation Canadian Register of Historic Places Council of Yukon First Nations Department of Fisheries and Oceans Canada Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre Federal Heritage Building First Nations Finance Authority First Peoples’ Cultural Council Heritage Lighthouses Haida Repatriation Committee Heritage Railway Stations Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump Historic Sites and Monuments Board of Canada International Centre for the Study of the Preservation and Restoration of Cultural Property International Council on Monuments and Sites Indigenous and Northern Affairs Canada Indigenous Tourism Association of Canada International Union for Conservation of Nature Museum of Anthropology, Vancouver National Historic Event National Historic People National Historic Site National Park Service (United States) National Register of Historic Places (United States) North-West Mounted Police Outstanding Universal Value Parks Canada xvii

xviii

RCMP SRCC TH THFA UN UNESCO WHS YCGC YESAA YESAB YFNCT

Abbreviations

Royal Canadian Mounted Police Skidegate Repatriation and Cultural Committee Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Final Agreement United Nations United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization World Heritage Site Yukon Consolidated Gold Corporation Yukon Environmental and Socio-economic Assessment Act Yukon Environmental and Socio-economic Assessment Board Yukon First Nation Culture and Tourism Association

List of Boxes

Box 4.1 Box 4.2 Box 4.3

Stan Knowlton, “It all has a story that is behind it” . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . 196 Stan Knowlton, “Beyond Wood, Stone and Texts” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203 Stan Knowlton, “At the Tipi Camp” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210

Box 5.1

Barbara Wilson, “How the Haida Moved from SGang Gwaay to Skidegate” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 255 Barbara Wilson, “Building a Knowledge Base” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 302 Barbara Wilson, “The Honorable Way of Making Things Right” 314

Box 5.2 Box 5.3 Box 6.1 Box 6.2

DZCC Staff, “The DZCC as a Place of Learning and Sharing” . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . 395 Sammy Taylor, “Chief Isaac and the Story of Han Songs and Dances” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 405

xix

List of Figures

Fig. 3.1 Fig. 3.2

Fig. 3.3 Fig. 4.1 Fig. 4.2 Fig. 4.3 Fig. 4.4 Fig. 4.5 Fig. 4.6 Fig. 4.7 Fig. 4.8

Fig. 4.9

Fig. 4.10 Fig. 5.1

Sherry Arnstein’s Ladder of Citizen Participation (1969). (Source: Arnstein 1969, 217) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100 Scott Davidson’s Wheel of Participation (1998). (Source: Davidson 1998, 15, as adapted in Creative Commons 2012, 8) . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . 103 Bryony Onciul’s Engagement Zone Diagram (2015). (Source: Onciul 2015, 103) . .. . .. .. . .. .. . .. .. . .. .. . .. .. . .. 110 The cliff at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Map of the area of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. (Courtesy of HSIBJ) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Interpretive Centre at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . .. . . . . Archaeological dig in the exhibition at HSIBJ. (Photo by Susemihl; printed with permission of HSIBJ) . . . . . . . At the Lower Trail, HSIBJ. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . Signature display at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump Interpretive Centre. (Photos by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Buffalo standing leisurely at the top of the cliff . . . . . . . . Wall painting at HSIBJ, depicting women at the camp and processing area. (Photo by Susemihl, printed with permission of HSIBJ) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Edwin Small Legs teaching the program Living off the Land. (Photo by Susemihl, printed with permission of HSIBJ) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Health care facility at Standoff, Kainai Nation. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . .. . . . . .. . . . . . .. . . . . .. . . . . . .. . . . . .. . . . . .. . . .

148 151 180 182 183 184 185

188

206 225

Remains of totem poles at K’uuna Llnagaay (Skedans). (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 243

xxi

xxii

Figs. 5.2 and 5.3

Fig. 5.4 Fig. 5.5 Fig. 5.6 Figs. 5.7 and 5.8

Figs. 5.9 and 5.10

Fig. 5.11 Fig. 5.12 Figs. 5.13 and 5.14 Fig. 5.15 and 5.16 Fig. 5.17

Fig. 6.1 Fig. 6.2 Fig. 6.3 Fig. 6.4 Figs. 6.5 and 6.6

Figs. 6.7 and 6.8

Fig. 6.9

List of Figures

Interior house post (ca. 1850), taken from SGang Gwaay in 1957, and house-front pole (ca. 1870), in four pieces, taken from Tanu in 1954, Museum of Anthropology, Vancouver. (Photos by Susemihl) . . . . . . Skidegate, Haida Gwaii. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . The Haida Heritage Centre and the Haida Gwaii Museum at Ḵay Llnagaay. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . Carving House at the Haida Heritage Centre. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Haida Gwaii Museum at Ḵay Llnagaay, and Haida house frontal poles at the Haida Gwaii Museum. (Photos by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sarah’s Haida Art & Jewelry in Old Masset, Haida Gwaii, and three watchmen at the top of a totem pole in Masset. (Photos by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Station of the Haida Gwaii Watchmen at Ḵ’uuna Llnagaay/Skedans. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bilingual road signs in Skidegate. (Photos by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Skidegate Haida Language School, and the Skidegate Haida Immersion Program. (Photos by Susemihl) . . . . . Remains of totem poles at Skedans, grown over by a tree (right). (Photos by Susemihl) . .. . . .. . .. . .. . . .. . .. . .. . Totem pole in Skidegate, carved by Tim Boyko and Jason Goetzinger, raised in 2011 by Wigaanad (Sidney Crosby), Chief of the Naa’yuu’ans, Skidegate Gidins. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The property of Tr’ondëk-Klondike in the Yukon as nominated in 2017. (Source: TKWH 2018) . . . . . . . . . . . . View of Dawson City and the Yukon River from the Moosehide Trail. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in government building in Dawson City. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sign at Moosehide Trail for tourists. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tailings left by dredges in the Klondike region, and protest by miners against the UNESCO nomination. (Photos by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Parks Canada guide dressed in period custom with a groups of tourists, and vignette from the program, “The Maid, the Mountie, and the Miner”. (Two photos by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Display of the Chilkat people at the Dawson City Museum. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

246 259 269 271

272

284 292 300 304 317

319 333 336 354 358

371

376 379

List of Figures

Fig. 6.10 Fig. 6.11 Fig. 6.12 Fig. 6.13 Fig. 6.14 Fig. 6.15 Fig. 6.16

xxiii

Exhibition of the Tr’ochëk Heritage Site at the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Proposed developments at Tr’ochëk. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre in Dawson City. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Exhibition at the Hammerstone Gallery at the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Display at the DZCC commemorating the play Beat of the Drum. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Private residences of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in at Moosehide. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in subdivision and greenhouse. (Photo by Susemihl) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

382 384 386 389 402 402 410

List of Tables

Table 3.1 Table 3.2 Table 3.3 Table 3.4

Participation models and case studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Recognition of Indigenous rights and interests at World Heritage Sites . .. . . .. . .. . . .. . .. . . .. . .. . . .. . . .. . .. . . .. . .. . . .. . .. . . .. . . .. . .. . . .. . .. . Bell’s Four Areas of Community Development through Tourism .. . . .. . . .. . . .. . .. . . .. . . .. . . .. . .. . . .. . . .. . . .. . . .. . .. . . .. . . .. . . .. . Diagram of Indigenous empowerment and community development through World Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

104 126 129 132

Table 4.1

Indigenous empowerment and community development through World Heritage: Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221

Table 5.1

Haida guiding principles and ecosystem-based management principles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 263 Indigenous empowerment and community development through World Heritage: SGang Gwaii and Gwaii Haanas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 309

Table 5.2 Table 6.1 Table 6.2

Interpretive planning and tourism development . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 369 Indigenous empowerment and community development through World Heritage: Tr’ondëk-Klondike . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . 408

xxv

Chapter 1

Introduction

There’s three things that has [sic] to be intact before a person will feel good, and I would say your language, your culture and your heritage. And I say that if you get two of them and not the third one, there’s something missing. Chief Isaac Juneby (Han Gwich’in) 2000, Hammerstone Gallery

Abstract The chapter provides an introduction into the book’s objectives, arguments, analytical frameworks, methodology, and significance. It outlines the book’s underlying theoretical and political paradigms as well as key contributions to the scholarship on heritage studies and Indigenous community development. It also reflects on UNESCO’s World Heritage List and discusses Indigenous issues with the concept of heritage. The book develops the argument that a change of heritage concepts and ‘liberation’ from the ‘authorized heritage discourse’ is only possible with the ‘liberation’ of the Indigenous people, which requires Indigenous selfdetermination and a new, ‘unauthorized’ understanding of heritage. The chapter also introduces the three case studies that are at the core of the book – the sites of Head Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, Alberta, SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas, British Columbia, and Tr’ondëk-Klondike, Yukon. Finally, the chapter explains the structure of the book and comments on terminology and language use. Keywords UNESCO · World Heritage · Unauthorized heritage · Indigenous heritage · Ownership · Methodology · Field studies · Terminology When in May 2018 Yukon News announced that “Canada withdraws Klondike world heritage site bid” (Joannou 2018), this news came completely unexpectedly for the people in Yukon. It meant that the proposed World Heritage site of Tr’ondëkKlondike was not to be considered for inscription on the UNESCO World Heritage List by the World Heritage Committee on its annual meeting in June. The Yukon bid had been organized by representatives from the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Nation, the Yukon government and other stakeholders. After years of communicating,

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 G. Susemihl, Claiming Back Their Heritage, Heritage Studies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-40063-6_1

1

2

1

Introduction

collaborating, negotiating and writing a comprehensive nomination, the Government of Canada withdrew the proposal after a visit of ICOMOS1 reviewers to the site. When I travelled to Dawson City in August 2018, I met many people who felt disappointed and let down. Late Yukon historian David Neufeld explained that there seemed to have been “differences in opinion between Dawson people (both First Nation and settler) and the ICOMOS reviewers about cultural landscape characteristics” (Pers. comm. with Neufeld 2018). ICOMOS also expressed concern about active mining within the property and had hoped to see another approach to Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in culture in the nomination. While the process of withdrawal and reworking a proposal before putting a site forward again to be added to the World Heritage List is not unusual, this case appears exceptional, as it indicates profound differences in Indigenous and ‘Western’ heritage perception and understanding. Indeed, there are many contradictions and conflicts between the UNESCO concept of ‘heritage’ and Indigenous ideas and claims to land and ownership of heritage, as well as between Indigenous hopes and expectations towards UNESCO and Indigenous movements for emancipation. UNESCO’s ‘Westernized’ and ‘authorized’ understanding of World Heritage comes with certain expectations and understandings concerning heritage protection and interpretation. Moreover, UNESCO’s notion of universal ownership implies questions of voice and agency related with places and traditions. Hence, the above-mentioned experience and a closer look at other World Heritage sites connected to Indigenous cultures raise a number of questions regarding the nomination process, interpretation of heritage sites and World Heritage discourses. Indeed, we need to ask who determines what is significant and worth protecting in the light of diverse community interests and what UNESCO guidelines and discourses mean for Indigenous heritage sites. At the same time, we need to enquire how Indigenous perspectives, meanings and uses of heritage fit into the ‘authorized’ UNESCO heritage construct, and what we make of ‘rejected’ sites such as the Tr’ondëk-Klondike. The World Heritage Program operates through power structures and governmentality (Smith 2006) and, according to Di Giovine, creates “a particular ethical orientation through discourses of security” (2015, 99). As “power is invested in socially approved ‘experts’ to ensure [. . .] the security of the heritage properties (that is, ensuring its authenticity and integrity)” and to create and disseminate “the appropriate knowledge concerning a site’s value and use” (ibid.), specific narratives are constructed around local heritage places. Moreover, Smith (2006, 82) argues that the discourse of ‘stewardship’ creates a sense that the discipline of archaeology is a ‘protector’ of the past, because the professional archaeologist and the archaeological discourse about material culture dominate the narratives and reflect the ‘governing’ role of archaeological knowledge. The dominating discourses and representations at heritage sites, thus, often present the past in reduced stereotyped manners. This ‘official’ way of understanding heritage – termed the ‘authorized heritage discourse’

1 ICOMOS – the International Council on Monuments and Sites – is once of the advisory bodies for UNESCO.

1.1

UNESCO World Heritage

3

(AHD) by Laurajane Smith (2006) – stresses the importance of expertise knowledge and a current ‘Western’ perspective. This study develops the argument that a change of heritage concepts and ‘liberation’ from the ‘authorized heritage discourse’ is only possible with the ‘liberation’ of the Indigenous people, which requires Indigenous self-determination and a new, ‘unauthorized’ understanding of heritage. A different view on World Heritage must be developed, free from an ‘authorized’ view that constrains definitions and uses of heritage, and the role of UNESCO needs to be questioned. Moreover, cultural World Heritage sites connected to Indigenous heritage must be managed and interpreted by Indigenous people whose heritage is represented at those sites. This is only possible if Indigenous people are the owners of the sites or collaboration between different stakeholders in terms of management is installed. Taking a closer look at how Indigenous and non-Indigenous people ‘read’ and ‘use’ heritage, the study explores to what degree Indigenous people receive voice and visibility at World Heritage sites connected to their culture. Heritage sites, and especially landscapes, have their own contested histories that are often interpreted by agencies that are attached to the colonial era, globalisation and localisation, which have reconfigured relations and opportunities (Cornwall 2002). In this respect, it is also worthwhile to assess how interests of Indigenous communities are reconciled with interests of the broader public, and how the category of ‘cultural landscape’ may help to integrate heritage, culture and society. Most importantly, I want to explore how a non-Indigenous public can liberate themselves from colonial perceptions and integrate alternative views within the UNESCO World Heritage concept.

1.1

UNESCO World Heritage

World Heritage sites are among a long list of more than one thousand locations worldwide that are nominated as the world’s greatest attractions and the most marvellous cultural and natural sites on earth. These places are as unique and diverse as the many cultures and landscapes they represent. Since 1972, UNESCO has been seeking to encourage the identification, protection and preservation of cultural and natural heritage around the world considered to be of outstanding value to humanity. Its universal application makes the concept of World Heritage exceptional; World Heritage sites are meant to “belong to all the people of the world, irrespective of the territory on which they are located” (UNESCO 2021f). They are recognized by tourists as places of superior significance, and the stories they tell and the information passed on about people and their pasts are recognised worldwide. Consequently, besides having a symbolically highly significant status, cultural World Heritage is valued for its educational aspects: it informs and educates local, regional and international visitors about the past, present and future of peoples and societies associated with the sites. In 2023, the UNESCO World Heritage List includes 1157 properties forming part of the cultural and natural heritage of the world (UNESCO 2023b). These include

4

1

Introduction

900 cultural, 218 natural and 39 mixed properties in 167 countries. Of the 939 cultural and mixed properties worldwide, more than 400 are in Europe.2 In North America there are presently 44 heritage sites registered on the list, 22 of them as cultural or mixed properties. Four out of ten cultural and mixed properties in Canada and six out of twelve properties in the United States are related to Indigenous cultures and societies, while most properties are connected to English, French and Spanish colonial settlement and the political birth of the two nations. Additionally, there are 22 cultural or mixed properties on the Tentative Lists of Canada and the United States. While Canada submitted ten cultural and mixed properties for future designation, nine of which have been associated with Indigenous cultures, the US proposed eleven properties, two of them associated with ancient Indigenous cultures (UNESCO 2023a; see Appendix A). As shown by these numbers, there is a misrepresentation of cultural World Heritage on the North American continent in general, and in World Heritage sites representing Indigenous peoples in North America, in particular. Since the World Heritage Committee’s Budapest Declaration of 2002, the call for a more diverse and balanced thematic, cultural and geographical list has been an issue. Despite great efforts, almost fifty percent of all cultural and mixed properties are still located in Europe, which subsequently represents a bias towards monuments and historic towns. In 2010, heritage scholar Marie-Theres Albert criticized that “UNESCO World Heritage does not do justice to the diversity of cultures” (18). More than a decade later this statement is still true. UNESCO policy has recognized that many of the cultural and natural World Heritage sites are home to Indigenous peoples or located within land managed by Indigenous peoples whose land use, knowledge and cultural and spiritual values and practices are related to this heritage (UNESCO 2021g). Now as before, however, the heritage of Indigenous peoples is underrepresented on the World Heritage List, and their cultures and lifeways are less visible than many practices and products associated with settler colonialism and even the “elimination of the native” (Wolfe 2006, n.p.).3 The territories of Canada and the United States, however, have been settled, created and shaped by numerous Indigenous peoples of diverse cultures and languages. Some of them had developed complex societies with a large and highly The UNESCO statistics “Number of World Heritage Properties by Region” lists the sites of Europe and North America together, including Israel. Here, the numbers have been adjusted. Italy, Germany, Spain, France and Great Britain alone account for more than 200 cultural and mixed sites (UNESCO 2023c). 3 The Landscape of Grand Pré in Nova Scotia, for example, has been inscribed on the World Heritage List in 2012, as “an exceptional example of the adaptation of the first European settlers to the conditions of the North American coast” without mentioning the relationships between the Mi’kmaq and Acadians that began in 1604 and included the Mi’kmaq teaching the Acadians how to farm and survive the winters in their new environs. Another example is the San Antonio Missions, inscribed in 2015. This group of five frontier mission complexes in southern Texas was built by Franciscan missionaries in the eighteenth century and illustrates the Spanish Crown’s efforts to colonize, evangelise and defend the northern frontier of New Spain, recruiting hundreds of Indigenous people who were subjected to physical labour and religious conversion. 2

1.1

UNESCO World Heritage

5

diverse population and an organized political structure well before the Europeans colonised America. While some of them were nomadic people, others lived in villages and towns. The development of both countries was greatly facilitated by relations between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people. Not only were Indigenous peoples crucial to early European explorers’ survival in unfamiliar territories, but later they were valuable military allies in wars. Many of them, however, were forced by colonial powers to move and relocate multiple times throughout history. The resulting migrations and fundamental changes in their ways of life had enormous consequences on Indigenous communities, their traditions and religious practices. Despite their crucial impact on the development of the two Nations, there are only a few sites on the World Heritage List that reflect the rich cultural diversity of North America’s Indigenous peoples. It is UNESCO’s policy and notion to protect and preserve cultural heritage from any environmental or human agent that threatens to destroy it because of the heritage’s significance, and to increase the understanding and awareness of heritage. Protection means the administration under which a property is managed or maintained and all interventions, i.e., all changes through preservation and restoration. But who is really claiming culture by using UNESCO’s conventions? There is a paradox in the World Heritage program concerning the implementation of participatory policies, as Di Giovine (2015) points out. While the program relies on States Parties4 to acknowledge and ratify its conventions, UNESCO circumvents states by calling directly for individual participation. Stepping outside of the intricacies of heritage governance at different levels of agency, Indigenous participation is particularly desired. Yet in the light of UNESCO’s Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage (2003), the Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions (2005) and the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (2007) there are several fundamental issues concerning the heritage of Indigenous peoples, the representation of cultural diversity and the ownership of heritage to be considered. Once a local heritage site receives the accolade of a UNESCO designation and becomes a World Heritage site, a number of things happen. By enlisting a site on the World Heritage List, the local place receives worldwide attention, and local, national and international perceptions change. The local ‘place’ is converted into an international ‘heritage place’ (Di Giovine 2009, 187), which changes the narratives of the site. While the site often tells a local story, with the designation the story is converted into a universal story, related to the World Heritage status, and a ‘meta narrative’ level is created which transfers local heritage into the ‘heritage of humankind’. This global process transforms local places into objects of international interest, bringing local and national politics into the arena. It supports UNESCO’s approach of ‘culture for peace’, uniting people through World Heritage properties and bringing the

4

States Parties are countries which have adhered to the World Heritage Convention and thereby agree to identify and nominate properties on their national territory to be considered for enlisting on the World Heritage List.

6

1

Introduction

world’s cultural diversity together. In many Indigenous places the process of designation is, however, accompanied with misrepresentation, cultural appropriation and the ‘museumification of cultures’ (ibid., 261).5 Often, local questions that are central to the heirs of the heritage step into the background when universal questions are addressed and a different or additional, archaeological and historical interpretation is established. This contradicts Indigenous people’s understanding of heritage, who do not view heritage as ‘things of the past’ but connected to the present, their land and identity. Furthermore, through the designation a ‘ritual interaction’ between the visitor and the World Heritage site starts which leads to a more intuitive understanding of universal value and global significance, which might also detract from local messages connected to the specific heritage. Many World Heritage sites worldwide are of great economic, cultural, social or spiritual significance to Indigenous peoples. Often, they are located in areas over which Indigenous peoples have rights of ownership, access or use (Disko et al. 2014, 3).6 The engagement with Indigenous communities in the implementation of UNESCO’s 1972 Convention concerning the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage (World Heritage Convention) and in managing World Heritage sites, therefore, “requires a framework that is based on different principles from the engagement with other local communities but that implies their life ways and understandings of heritage,” as Disko (2012, 16) points out. In accordance with international human rights law, Indigenous peoples enjoy collective rights, in particular the right of self-determination, as affirmed in the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP).7 As “an organization committed to human rights, UNESCO has, thus, a special duty and responsibility to ensure that these rights are respected, protected and fulfilled” in the implementation of the Convention and within World Heritage sites (ibid.). There are World Heritage sites that serve as best practice models with regard to the involvement of local Indigenous people in the site-management process, such as

5

Misappropriation of Indigenous peoples’ heritage implies that Indigenous cultural, genetic or biological resources are appropriated without the consent of the Indigenous people who the resource belongs to, which ranges from the misuse of traditional costumes, art, songs, dance or stories to the patenting of DNA information (Saami Council 2008, 2; see also von Lewinski 2004). 6 Of the approximately 1000 areas designated as World Heritage sites under UNESCO’s 1972 World Heritage Convention as of 2014, at least 100 such sites are fully or partially located within the traditional territories of Indigenous peoples, including over a third of all sites designated as ‘natural’ World Heritage sites (Disko et al. 2014, 3). Examples are Tongariro National Park (New Zealand), Kakadu National Park (Australia), Taos Pueblo and Hawaii Volcanoes National Park (United States), Pimachiowin Aki and Tr’ondëk-Klondike (Canada). 7 When in 2007 the Declaration was adopted by the General Assembly of the UN with a majority of 143 states in favour, the four states of Australia, Canada, New Zealand and the United States voted against it. While Australia shifted its position in support of the Declaration in 2009, the other three countries followed in 2010. In 2019, British Columbia became the first jurisdiction in Canada to incorporate UNDRIP, making it part of B.C. law (Cultural Survival 2020). As a non-binding instrument, the declaration does not ‘create’ any rights, but elaborates upon existing international human rights standards as they apply to Indigenous peoples.

1.2

Indigenous Issues with Heritage

7

SGang Gwaay, managed as part of Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve. There are other World Heritage sites, though, in which Indigenous people have been, and continue to be, excluded from decision-making processes. There are, for example, cases in which they were not consulted when parts of their territory were nominated for World Heritage or in the preparation of management plans. There are also cases of Indigenous peoples being restricted in carrying out traditional land use practices within World Heritage sites and of people having been forcibly removed from their traditional territories in order to inscribe a site on the World Heritage List (Poole 2003; Disko 2012). Other problems include inadequate structures for effective Indigenous participation in management processes, ignorance or disrespect for traditional knowledge and Indigenous institutions, and the elevation of such sites to major tourist destinations to the disadvantage of the region’s Indigenous population (Disko 2012, 16). When World Heritage sites are located on the traditional territory of Indigenous peoples, it must be with the consent and ongoing approval of the respective Indigenous communities, as Disko argues: Management and protection of such sites must take place according to the rules, laws and customs of the indigenous peoples concerned. It is their ancestral land, their heritage, their culture, their way of life and the future of their children that are primarily affected by the existence of the World Heritage site, and the tourism, infrastructure and other developments that go along with it. In the management of sites it must be ensured that the indigenous people may continue living their traditional way of life, and that their distinct cultural identity, social structure, economic system, customs, beliefs, and traditions are respected, guaranteed and protected (Disko 2012, 17).

In any case, appropriate measures must be taken to ensure the continuance of Indigenous peoples’ special relationship with the land and their social, cultural and economic survival as distinct peoples. When applying a community approach to the nomination and management of World Heritage sites, the above-mentioned suggestions need to be considered.

1.2

Indigenous Issues with Heritage

Cultural heritage – the legacy of physical artifacts8 and intangible attributes of a group inherited from past generations – is of considerable historical, cultural and social importance. It holds a strong connection with individual and collective memories that are considered an essential element of individual and collective identity (Le Goff 1992, 98) and is formed, among other factors, by historic environments that contain an innumerable amount of ancient and recent stories, written in stone, brick or wood, or otherwise inscribed in the features of the landscape that become the focus of community identity and pride. Providing mnemonic features, 8

Common in anthropology and archaeology, this term and its definition are problematic in Indigenous contexts, as it cuts off objects from specific Indigenous peoples and a connection the present (Younging 2018, 52–53).

8

1 Introduction

heritage sites and landscapes serve as ‘cultural tools’ that facilitate the processes of remembering and identity building, and the link that binds heritage and communities is related to spiritual values, historical significance and traditional occupations. Heritage can, therefore, be understood as a cultural process that “engages with acts of remembering that work to create ways to understand and engage with the present” (Smith 2006, 44). Indeed, this continuity with the past gives us “certainties, allowing us to draw a line in which our present can fit” (Biancalana 2007, 6) and helping us to develop visions for the future. For Indigenous people, heritage is essential to the restoration and permanence of their cultural distinctiveness and important for the social and cultural strength of communities. Heritage can, therefore, be considered as an asset of economic, social, cultural and political capacity-building. It can be used in ways to give a sense of community to disparate groups and individuals and to foster respect for cultural and social diversity and hence challenge prejudice and misrepresentation. While local stewardship of heritage has the capacity to empower and recover cultural identity, the loss of cultural heritage is linked to a loss of identity. As a result, World Heritage sites have numerous tasks to fulfil: they are signifiers of cultural diversity, keepers of transcultural stories and shapers of identities. One of the arguments developed in this study is that heritage sites have the capacity to empower Indigenous communities to sustain their heritage and identity and provide useful places for social and material advancement. This, however, is only possible if Indigenous communities are equal stakeholders of heritage sites and decision-makers who are able to realise their right to cultural heritage, which helps to stimulate growth and capacity building. Consequently, this book constructs a sense of heritage that is inclusive of the Indigenous heritage discourse and provides a framework for analysing the use of heritage by Indigenous communities for their development and benefit, thus facilitating greater understanding and respect for the uses of Indigenous heritage. Aspects such as ownership and control, management and participation, representation and visitors’ expectations have significant implications and consequences for Indigenous capacity building and community development, and subsequently on the modes and contents of a site’s ‘storytelling’ and the building of identities. Examining the three cultural (World) Heritage sites of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump (HSIBJ), SGang Gwaay (including Gwaii Haanas) and Tr’ondëk-Klondike in Canada, the study gives insight into the management and ownership structures and considers aspects of representation and interpretation of Indigenous cultures, as well as community involvement and the educational and cultural programs associated with the three sites. It, thus, explores the idea of Indigenous empowerment, capacity building and community development through cultural World Heritage. One major issue is the question of ownership and control of cultural heritage. UNESCO argues that what makes the concept of World Heritage extraordinary is its universal application, and that cultural heritage belongs to the public and should be used for the greater good of contributing to the knowledge of humankind (UNESCO 2021f). Many Indigenous peoples in Canada and worldwide, though, emphasise that “increased protection and control of material and immaterial cultural heritage of special significance to them is fundamental to the continuity, revival, and survival of

1.2

Indigenous Issues with Heritage

9

their cultural identity in the face of past and ongoing forces of colonization” (Bell and Paterson 2009b, 3). The last decades have witnessed an increased demand by Indigenous peoples for protection, repatriation and control of cultural heritage (Bell and Napoleon 2008b, 1). However, they still do not have control over all aspects of their cultural heritage, which are vital to them. Yet, as Asch (2009, 394) asks, “[w] hat could be more reasonable than a desire to ensure that you are the custodian of your own cultural heritage? And what could be more unreasonable than holding another people’s cultural heritage, of ongoing significance to them, in your hands?” In Canada, legal and political jurisdictions over its citizens and the final decision making over cultural heritage and other forms of property are usually divided between the federal and provincial governments. Since First Nations are not provinces, though, the law assumes that they “do not have the legitimate right to ultimate authority over decisions that affect their cultural heritage” (ibid.). Instead, as Asch (2009, 395) explains, the state of Canada – a state that did not even exist when much that is the cultural heritage of First Nations was created, largely does not respect the names given to places before the arrival of European settlers, and established the rule of law over First Nations on the basis of a colonial ideology invented at the time of the British imperium – is considered to hold legitimate authority over First Nations cultural heritage.

As a result, where Canadian authority assigns control outside of First Nations, as “in the case of statutory ‘ownership’ of material culture by the federal or provincial governments, or heritage sites located off reserve land, First Nations seeking greater control are left to make claims, to negotiate, and [. . .] to make ‘demands’” (ibid.). However, when one culture decides what is significant and worth protecting in the cultural heritage of another, there is always the possibility of injustice arising (ibid., 397). Consequently, the question of control and protection of Indigenous cultural heritage calls “for respect and recognition of First Nations laws and jurisdictions, thereby requiring consideration of this broader and more fundamental problem” (ibid., 395). Recently, Indigenous empowerment, that is the increasing awareness of spiritual, political, social, racial, educational, gender and economic strengths of individuals and communities through heritage, is gaining importance for First Nations, and the value of community-led cultural heritage management is being increasingly explored (e.g. Bell and Paterson 2009a, b; Bell and Napoleon 2008a; Onciul 2015). Ownership and control of heritage are also inevitably linked with education and empowerment, since the owner determines what and how heritage is being protected and what stories are being told. Power dynamics in Canada, however, are shifting, and more and more First Nations are taking control of their cultural heritage. The question of ownership and control also implies the aspect of management. Today, there is a growing literature in heritage studies that expresses a strong desire to engage community participation in heritage management, interpretation and conservation work, which is often expressed as community outreach or social and cultural inclusion. Collaborative conservation between Indigenous people, archaeologists and the government presents new and innovative opportunities for community control in heritage management practice. Community approaches to heritage

10

1 Introduction

furthermore emphasise cultural landscapes and Indigenous relationships to the land and water. While exploring SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas, for example, the book looks at how the traditional owners work collaboratively with the government to design and implement methods for cultural heritage assessment that not only meet legislative requirements relating to archaeological sites, but also Indigenous needs regarding culturally significant landscapes. Overall, this study examines how effective heritage management can be undertaken in accordance with appropriate Indigenous law and community control, how the management of cultural World Heritage differs from the management of other sites, and what is necessary for managing Indigenous cultural heritage in terms of knowledge, training and understanding. In that regard, SGang Gwaay, proposed by Canada as a best practice, is particularly interesting as a case study for such aspects as innovative management practices, active commitment and leadership roles of local Indigenous people, mandatory courses for staff, and innovative media strategies in order to raise awareness and create an understanding for the site. A third issue the study looks at is the representation and interpretation of Indigenous people at the museums and cultural centres at World Heritage sites and the questions what visitors learn about Indigenous people and how Indigenous people see themselves through the exhibitions. These issues are very differently pursued at heritage sites, including the three sites studied. At HSIBJ the government worked with the Piikani, whose knowledge of its existence and the lore of its use has diligently been passed on to successive generations and worked into the storyline of the Interpretive Centre. The government did not, however, consult the other two Blackfoot bands in Alberta. This omission raises questions of who has the right to interpret another culture and hence gain authenticity. Today, the Piikani play a major role in the operation of the site, holding most of the jobs inside the centre, including all the jobs as site interpreters. Heritage associated with Indigenous cultures requires attention to the relation between the Indigenous communities and the land and place. The uses of heritage for community development, education and identity formation are, thus, important parts of narratives of identity that are communicated at the sites and that Indigenous people use as a ‘tool’ in negotiating social relationships with all stakeholders of the heritage site.

1.3

The Three Case Studies

The two World Heritage sites of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump and SGang Gwaay (as part of Gwaii Haanas) and the site of Tr’ondëk-Klondike as nominated in 2017, as well as their surrounding landscapes represent a complex range of Indigenous identities, ideologies and social relations. These three case studies are particularly interesting in terms of ownership and control because the political situations at the three sites are fundamentally different regarding treaties, reconciliation protocols and self-government. Furthermore, they represent diverse structures regarding the management and community involvement. While HSIBJ is owned and managed by

1.3

The Three Case Studies

11

the provincial government, Gwaii Haanas, which includes the site of SGang Gwaay, is a community-led cultural heritage project, cooperatively managed by the Council of the Haida Nation and the Government of Canada. At Tr’ondëk-Klondike, the Indigenous people have achieved self-government. Consequently, they are the owners and managers of their heritage sites and have been active drivers within the processes of heritage preservation. Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, located in Southern Alberta, is one of the oldest and largest buffalo jumps in North America. The significance of the landscape lies in its archaeological, cultural, historic and ethnographic value. The deep layers of bison bones buried below the cliff represent nearly 6000 years of use of the buffalo jump by the Indigenous people of the Northern Plains. It was designated a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1981 and inscribed under criterion (vi), which recognizes its direct association with “the survival of the human race during the pre-historic period” (ICOMOS 1981b). Archaeological evidence combined with oral history of landscape use reveals an impressive story of hunting technology and human ingenuity and embodies outstanding “physical archives of human adaptation” (Kristensen and Donnelly 2018). Today, this landscape still forms part of the traditional knowledge base of the Plains nations, binding “a story of nature and culture – interwoven like a photograph – that immortalizes a memory” (ibid.). The discussion of Blackfoot involvement with this important cultural site and its Interpretive Centre, their participation in the interpretation and representation and their reclaiming of the place is the focus of Chap. 4. The second site examined, and subject of Chap. 5, is the World Heritage site of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas, located on the archipelago of Haida Gwaii. At the ancient Haida village of SGang Gwaay, the remains of cedar plank longhouses and totem poles illustrate the art and way of life of Haida society. Inscribed in 1981 under cultural criterion (iii), the site bears unique testimony to the culture of the Haida, based on fishing and hunting, and offers a visual key to their oral traditions (ICOMOS 1981a). The site is part of the Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve and Haida Heritage Site, which has been on UNESCO’s Tentative List since 2004. Ancient Haida village sites and more than 600 archaeological features located in the park reserve give evidence of Haida occupation and activities in the region. Traditional narratives, songs and language relate the place intimately to Haida history and way of life, and the natural resources of the area are an integral part of Haida traditional culture and relationships with the land and sea. The Haida’s road to recognition and collaboration has led to a unique situation of them being on the management board of the site. The case study of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas concentrates on the management, the representation of Haida culture, community programs, and tourism and resource management related to the site. The third case study, discussed in Chap. 6, features the site of Tr’ondëk-Klondike in the Yukon Territory as proposed in 2017. It is “an exceptional living cultural landscape that reflects the enduring coexistence of Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and newcomer populations” (TK Nom 2017, xii; see Sect. 2.4 for a discussion of cultural landscape), which were brought and bound together by the iconic nineteenth-century Klondike Gold Rush. The nominated property includes heritage attributes found

12

1 Introduction

along the Yukon River, in Dawson City and in the goldfields, including traditional Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in camps and settlements such as Tr’ochëk and Moosehide. Today, “traditional Indigenous culture and values coexist with active placer mining in an area that has long been associated with a frontier meeting place of Indigenous peoples and newcomers in search of land and resources” (ibid.). The fundamentally different relationships with the land for the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and newcomer populations continue to shape the cultural landscape today. This context and the enormous impact of the gold rush and its aftermath are legible in the material heritage of the landscape. Besides examining the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in’s role in the nomination process, this case study focuses on the storytelling and representing of Indigenous people at this popular tourist attraction and on Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in interpretation, representation and programs connected to their heritage. It is now forty years after the designation of the two sites of HSIBJ and SGang Gwaay to the World Heritage List – time to evaluate how the two sites have developed and consider some issues regarding their World Heritage status, such as the questions: How have the maintenance and operation practices, management structures, community consultation and participation processes either enhanced or weakened the interpretive intentions of the sites? How have the sites changed, or, as Sandalack (2019, 168) asks, discussing the landscape at HSIBJ, “has the potency of the site been compromised by freezing it in time”? How have on-site museums presented and interpreted Indigenous cultures and ways of life, and how have they supported the development of Indigenous communities? This study addresses these questions by closely and critically exploring the involvement of Indigenous communities at all three sites, evaluating the management of the sites, language and youth programs and other expressions of agency. Discussing these issues, the study also questions how the acknowledgement of collective identities of Indigenous groups can open new spheres of action that will help them to emancipate themselves from historically created dependencies. There are several reasons why I selected these three sites as case studies. When I started working on the project in 2011, there were two sites related to Indigenous cultures in Canada registered on the World Heritage List, HSIBJ and SGang Gwaay, both of which I visited during the research for this book. Additionally, there were a few more sites listed on the Canadian Tentative List. As I aimed at providing a broad perspective of the subject, I wanted to include other sites in the study. Yet financial restrictions allowed field studies only at a limited number of sites. Having to decide between the sites of Pimachiowin Aki and Tr’ondëk-Klondike, both inscribed on the Tentative List in 2004 and nominated for inscription in 2017, I decided to visit the Klondike in 2018. Not only had I been there before, but I also have been studying the Canadian North for many years and the socio-political situation of the Indigenous people in the Yukon has been strikingly different from that of other First Nations in Canada, which promised to add another layer of insight to Indigenous heritage and communities. Although Canada submitted a new proposal of Tr’ondëk-Klondike to UNESCO in 2021, I studied the process and application of the 2017 nomination,

1.3

The Three Case Studies

13

because it has been different from other proposals considering the value of a developing landscape and rather controversial.9 For centuries, Indigenous peoples and their cultures have been in the focus of academic research. Lately, though, Indigenous peoples have taken more control over these matters, and protocols must be followed when conducting research with Indigenous communities. While these matters are usually dealt with on a community basis, in the Yukon it is different. Under the provisions of the Scientists and Explorers Act (2002), all persons entering the Yukon for the purposes of research must obtain a Scientists and Explorers License, issued by the Heritage Resources Unit of the Government of Yukon. Additionally, for research on Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in traditional territory, the “Protocol for Conducting Research Related to Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and/or Accessing Community Knowledge,” issued by the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage Department, must be filled out and approved. Both forms require a description of the purpose, objectives, methodology and significance of the project. Moreover, the researcher needs to explain why community knowledge is necessary for the project, if Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in citizens need to be involved, and what the nature and scope of their involvement is. Most importantly, the researcher must make clear how the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Government and citizens may benefit from the research project. I had to ask myself why the people should agree to become the subject of this research project – or, as Barbara Hogan, Manager of Historic Sites at the Government of Yukon, phrased it, “What can you do for them?” (Pers. comm. with Hogan 2018). I was not asked this question at the other sites. For this project, there are two answers to this question – an academic and a personal one. As an academic, I hope to contribute to the debates of World Heritage and cultural diversity, to discussions concerning identity formation through heritage, Indigenous tourism and repatriation. Sharing the results with the First Nations and passing on the knowledge acquired about Indigenous participation and engagement with heritage sites, I trust that my outsider perspective adds just another layer to community perceptions. On a personal level, I have been sharing personal experiences and stories, committing to a strong emotional engagement. As all interviews are a human endeavor of meeting between people and of sharing and exchanging narratives, during the conversations I exposed myself as a person, not just an academic, ‘collecting’ other people’s stories, showing respect, understanding and gratitude for my interview partners and their stories.

9

Initially, I also planned to include World Heritage sites in the United States in the study, and I traveled to Chaco Culture National Historical Park, Mesa Verde National Park and Taos Pueblo. At these sites, community involvement is different from that at Canadian sites and the current state of research on the three sites is almost overwhelming. Also, the political situations concerning Indigenous people in Canada and the US differ significantly.

14

1.4

1

Introduction

Methodology and Scope

For the research of this book I used a methodological access that allows focusing on the respective spheres and practices in which the right to recognition and the power and the right to social conditions are negotiated in depth. The socio-political framework of the study is provided by the conditions of UNESCO for World Heritage and its intention to pronounce particular cultural achievements as worthy for conservation. A cultural-hermeneutical reading of nomination proposals and texts on heritage discourses, practices and presentations, therefore, form the basis for this study. Theoretically, I draw on critical heritage studies and discourses, particularly on Smith’s (2006) ‘authorized heritage discourse’ and Indigenous heritage discourses, as well as on concepts of representation and repatriation. Discourse analysis techniques, particularly those of Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA) as a well-established interdisciplinary methodology for analysing discourse and discursive practice, are employed as tools for analyzing the messages concerning heritage and for showing how a particular discourse acts to constitute and form the various representations of heritage (Smith 2004, 2006; Skrede and Hølleland 2018; Waterton 2010; Waterton et al. 2006). Moreover, Michel Foucault’s notion of the ‘gaze of power’ as well as postcolonial discourses that control, define and objectify oppressed groups in society are considered. A second aspect of this project is community participation and capacity building that has been discussed in literature for some time (Chino and DeBruyn 2006; Chitty 2016; Onciul 2015). The notion of ‘community’ within the field of heritage studies and the development of community engagement work in the heritage sector has been explored by many scholars who have examined the varied ways in which tensions between different groups and their aspirations arise and are mediated. Expressions of community that have been taken up with dominant political and academic practice, it has been argued, are “embedded with restrictive assumptions concerned with nostalgia, consensus and homogeneity, all of which help to facilitate the extent to which systemic issues tied up with social justice, recognition and subordinate status are ignored or go unidentified” (Waterton and Smith 2010, 4). This, inevitably, has serious and far-reaching consequences for community groups seeking to assert alternative understandings of heritage. The theoretical framework employed for the analysis of the case studies draws from participation and engagement theories, specifically from Arnstein’s (1969), Galla’s (1997) and Onciul’s (2015) models. Moreover, Indigenous engagement models (e.g. Marsh et al. 2018) and theories of Indigenous empowerment, capacity building and community development (e.g. Chino and DeBruyn 2006; Labonte and Laverack 2001) are consulted. It has been widely recognized that Indigenous approaches to knowledge contrast with Western ‘ways of knowing’. Cajete (2000), for example, defined models that go beyond objective measures and honor the importance of direct experience, interconnectedness, relationships and values. In that respect, Indigenous research paradigms

1.4

Methodology and Scope

15

and methodologies10 are based on Indigenous-centered priorities, linking selfdetermination with decolonization, healing, mobilization and transformation, which suggests that Indigenous people not only take charge of their own agenda, but also name the processes and employ methodologies that fit Indigenous framing of place, community, values and culture (Buggey 1999; LaFrance 2004). The Cree scholar Shawn Wilson (2001, 2008) describes an Indigenous paradigm as a set of underlying beliefs that guide people’s actions. These beliefs include the way Indigenous people view their own reality (ontology), how they think about this reality (epistemology), their ethics and morals (axiology) and how they approach their learning (methodology). Juxtaposing Indigenous thought processes with those of the dominant culture, Wilson develops the basis of an Indigenous research method that takes Indigenous ideologies and applies the dominant culture’s research methods accordingly.11 Understanding relationships is at the heart of comprehending his work, which serves as a reminder that many Indigenous scholars have to develop bicultural competencies. Understanding the different relationships between people and place is at the core of this study – an understanding that traverses through many layers of the project. The heritage considered in this study is viewed in two different worlds and needs to be interpreted into two different worlds – an Indigenous and a non-Indigenous one: it is perceived from an Indigenous perspective and world view by Indigenous staff, visitors and interview partners, and it is perceived from a Western, post-colonial perspective by non-Indigenous staff, visitors, interview partners and the author. Both ‘sides’ use their particular knowledge, perceptions, norms and values when seeing, describing and evaluating the sites. Many of the Indigenous site managers and staff at the three sites have been working and performing within two different realities and mindsets, which is demanding and challenging. When two cultures intersect there is always potential for misunderstanding based on cultural differences. As the culture and time we live in affect our perception of the world, it is important to be aware of judging the past on the standards of the present, or another culture with the standards of our own. Understanding the relationship between the (non-Indigenous) observer and the (Indigenous) observed, and what alternative forms of exchange and collaboration can be established that correspond with Indigenous traditions and protocol need also be dealt with in the book. This project primarily focuses on field studies, for which I visited the three sites and examined the places and museums in terms of content and presentation and conducted interviews with site managers, staff members, visitors and community members. To increase my understanding of engagement and management strategies 10 For discussions of Indigenous research paradigms and methodologies, see Bell 2016; Hart 2010; Held 2019; Moffat 2016; Smith (2012) and Wilson (2001, 2008), among others. 11 Wilson uses the two voices of the dominant-culture-thinking academic and the Indigenous man to explain his difficulties when it comes to shifting his thinking to ‘fit’ with the expectations of the dominant culture as a tool to allow the reader to straddle the two worlds he is caught between: “I guess that in switching back and forth between worlds (Indigenous and dominant) I sometimes forget where I am” (2008, 62).

16

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Introduction

and discuss the sites within a broader context, I also visited other Indigenous heritage sites and local and national museums in Canada and the United States, where I conducted additional research, interviews and visitor surveys.12 The interviews at the three sites followed a structured set of questions, dealing with four main areas of interest: (1) UNESCO in general; (2) ownership, management and control of the heritage site; (3) community involvement and identity; and (4) education and tourism (see Appendix B). Each interview was recorded and transcribed. Additionally, using a structured questionnaire, I conducted visitor surveys at the two sites of HSIBJ and SGang Gwaay, inquiring about visitor expectations and impressions of the site, access to information and their general understanding of cultural heritage, UNESCO and the respective site (see Appendix C). At the site of Tr’ondëk-Klondike, I reviewed a comprehensive visitor survey conducted by the Government of Yukon in 2016. As the first set of interviews at HSIBJ and SGang Gwaay was collected in 2011, I conducted follow-up interviews via Skype in 2020 to acquire information about new developments and structures. The Blackfoot, Haida and Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in communities are aware of their ‘academic appeal’ and have experience in managing and negotiating relationships with academic researchers. Consequently, members of the community, particularly Elders with traditional knowledge, are often asked to participate in studies and are experienced in deciding who to work with and on what terms. It is also within this context that I approach questions concerning the use of heritage for community development. Overall, the triple approach of a cultural-hermeneutical reading of different texts, the visits to the three heritage sites, and the narrative interviews with staff and visitors at the sites contribute to the analysis of the microstructure of institutional power and social emancipation in the light of divergent cultural norms and values in detail. Additionally, the three case studies feature different museums and exhibitions. At HSIBJ, an Interpretive Centre with exhibitions curated by non-Indigenous anthropologists interpret the history and culture of the buffalo jump, at Haida Gwaii, the Haida Gwaii Museums is run by the Haida people and gives an insight into Haida culture, and in the Klondike, the Dawson City Museum and the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre present different perspectives and narratives of Indigenous history and culture. A close examination and ‘reading’ of the exhibitions will give more insight into the representation of Indigenous voices with respect to the use and interpretation of heritage.

I visited and studied ‘Ksan Historical Village and Museum, Buffalo Nations Luxton Museum, Glenbow Museum, Blackfoot Crossing, Huron Traditional Site Wendake, Crawford Lake Conservation Area, Woodland Cultural Centre, and the Canadian Museum of History in Canada, and Taos Pueblo, Chaco Canyon, Mesa Verde, and the National Museum of the American Indian in the United States, among others. 12

1.5

1.5

The Structure of the Study

17

The Structure of the Study

In the context of UNESCO conventions and declarations, there are a number of fundamental issues to be considered concerning the cultural heritage of Indigenous people, the representation of cultural diversity and the ownership of cultural heritage. Chapter 2 of this book examines various ideas and concepts of heritage in general and within a UNESCO context in particular. Discussing critical heritage discourses (with an emphasis on Smith’s ‘authorized heritage discourse’ and Indigenous discourses) and reviewing different definitions and concepts of heritage, the chapter discovers the roles and functions of heritage and, more specifically, of World Heritage sites with a special emphasis on cultural landscapes. It reviews heritage as a cultural construct and process with regard to identity, memory and place. While investigating the understanding and scope of tangible and intangible cultural heritage, it also looks at the general visibility and accessibility of Indigenous cultural heritage in the context of tourism and the representation of Indigenous heritage within museums. Chapter 3 examines the concepts of Indigenous empowerment, capacity building and community development. While introducing and discussing different theories of participation and engagement, special attention is paid to Indigenous theories and concepts of community development. The chapter also considers the concepts of Indigenous relations to traditional worldviews, knowledge, narrative and place in connection with heritage. Moreover, the chapter looks at Indigenous rights and interests with respect to heritage sites, with a particular focus on Indigenous heritage tourism and cultural programs. A framework for examining and evaluating community development through heritage is designed for examining the three site of the case studies to explore what participation, empowerment and emancipation means in connection with specific legal, economic and institutional conditions in practice and what they can achieve in ‘contact zones’ of different cultural norms and values. This framework helps to investigate the three sites within the context of their designation, examining issues of ownership and management, protection and conservation, tourism and visitor expectation, and to observe community development and benefits through heritage. Chapters 4, 5 and 6 are devoted to the three case studies. Following a similar structure, the same aspects concerning heritage are considered at each site. Due to the different circumstances at and nature of the three sites, however, they are discussed with different emphases, stressing distinct aspects. The study is, therefore, not meant to be a comparison between the sites, but rather the different sites illustrate and exemplify different situations and aspects of Indigenous involvement in heritage preservation. Instead of returning to each case in different chapters, each case occupies its own chapter, presenting information on the community’s cultures and history and an insight into community engagement, ownership and management, as well as institutionalized representations and community on display. Sections 4.1, 5.1 and 6.1 introduce the three case studies and illustrate the way to inscription and the relevant criteria. Indigenous involvement and collaboration in the

18

1 Introduction

nomination process is portrayed, which has changed considerably throughout the past decades. While in the 1970s and 1980s the Blackfoot and Haida people were not involved in national and provincial endeavors of preserving Indigenous heritage and left out of the inscription processes of HSIBJ and SGang Gwaay, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in are a strong stakeholder in heritage preservation and have been guiding the writing of a comprehensive nomination of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike. The way to nomination and its withdrawal by the Government of Canada, however, illustrate different views and values of heritage preservation. The Sects. 4.2, 5.2, and 6.2 give an overview of the history, culture, traditional way of life and present situation of the Blackfoot, Haida and Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in people. This information is essential to understand the current ownership and management situation and their different involvement with and use of heritage. As each Nation has not only a different traditional social and cultural lifestyle, according to which they view and frame their heritage, but also engages within a different political framework, each nation is able to act within different socio-political and economic boundaries. Whereas the Blackfoot signed a treaty with the Canadian government in 1877, the Haida did not sign any historical treaties and their position for political struggle and land ownership is different. For the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, the Indian Act does not apply anymore, which gives them a different kind of political sovereignty altogether. Sections 4.3, 5.3 and 6.3 are concerned with the question of control, ownership and management structures of the cultural heritage, which is fundamental in terms of empowerment and community development. Taking a look at the participation of the local Indigenous population in the administration and operation of the respective site, the chapters explore the value of HSIBJ as a heritage site that is owned and managed by the provincial government, of Gwaii Haanas as a heritage site cooperatively managed by the Council of the Haida Nation and the Government of Canada, and of Tr’ondëk-Klondike as a community-led cultural heritage management project, as the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have complete control over their land and heritage as they have reached self-government in the Yukon. Sections 4.4, 4.5, 5.4, 6.5 and 6.6 discuss different aspects of the presentation and interpretation of the heritage sites. There are many issues involved with heritage in situ that require different approaches in different situations, but all aim to present heritage in its own context and as part of a process. All three sites feature exhibitions at a museum, interpretive or cultural centre that interpret Indigenous history and culture. At HSIBJ the exhibition was planned and interpreted by non-Indigenous archaeologists and other experts with minimal Blackfoot input, the Haida Gwaii Museum is run by the Haida community, and at Tr’ondëk-Klondike there are two museums, the Dawson City Museum and the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre, that present Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in history and culture. The framing of the narratives, Indigenous participation in the storytelling and interpretation, and the consequences and effects for visitors are examined in this respect. As all three sites are popular tourist destinations that receive thousands of visitors each year who hear about the history and culture of Indigenous people at these sites, Sects. 4.6, 5.5 and 6.4 take issue with visitors’ expectations and programs, tourism

1.6

On Terminology and Language

19

and the management of resources, and visitors’ views and myths of the Klondike. Aspects of identity formation and education of Indigenous people and visitors are considered. At issue is the question of what visitors learn about Canada’s First Nations and how Indigenous people see themselves through cultural World Heritage, examining educational programs and the representation of Indigenous people at interpretive and cultural centres and museums. Community commitment and programs concerning the heritage sites are discussed in Sects. 4.7, 5.6, 5.7 and 6.7. Culture, heritage and language are closely interconnected, one concept influencing the other, and together they make a person, remarks Han Gwich’in Chief Isaac Juneby. Heritage, therefore, helps to connect with language and culture and is an asset in developing community programs. These sections introduce and inspect Blackfoot cultural involvement with HSIBJ, Haida heritage programs such as the Watchman Program, culture camps and language and other educational programs connected to Gwaii Haanas, and Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in heritage programs, youth camps and traditional gatherings related to heritage that support community development on social and cultural levels and that are linked to the spiritual development and wellbeing of the people. Examining and evaluating Indigenous empowerment and community development through heritage is rather complex, as many aspects concerning the use of heritage need to be considered. For an easier approach to this multifaceted concept and the above-mentioned questions, a framework or ‘concept map’ for Indigenous empowerment and community development through cultural World Heritage has been applied to each site, bringing into correlation the relevant aspects of management, tourism and community development. These ‘concepts’ are part of Sects. 4.8, 5.8 and 6.8, that include short summaries of the analyzed aspects concerning the site and remarks on specific issues concerning each case study. As all three sites are living heritage that are changing and constantly evolving, an outlook onto future developments is also given.

1.6

On Terminology and Language

Words are powerful, and quickly one can capture or lose a reader with them. Using problematic words and writing about concepts such as ‘decolonization’ might disturb Indigenous readers, as Haida scholar Lucy Bell (2016) states: “Whenever I heard or read about the need to decolonize, I lost interest [. . .] I do not like to think of myself as in need of decolonization” (15); when the word was exchanged with ‘Indigenization,’ however, Bell’s “ears perked up” (ibid.). Terminology in relation to Indigenous issues might be confusing, disturbing or even offensive. Some terms carry legal implications, and it is important to understand these to use them appropriately. It is also important to keep in mind that any term used to refer to a group generally implies that there is homogeneity within that group which is not necessarily the case. However, there are concepts that are important to talk about, but it might be difficult to discuss them without using terms that imply generalization.

20

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Introduction

Categorizing, therefore, seems sometimes unavoidable, but it is important to be aware of its limitations and problems. Whenever possible, I include names or words in the original language, i.e. in Blackfoot, Haida or Hän, because they are expressing linguistic and cultural concepts that are important to capture. I italicize them, as I do with all words that are non-standard in the English lexicon, elaborating their beauty and uniqueness. Throughout the book I follow Dakota scholar Waziyatawin (2004) and many others in their preference of using the term ‘Indigenous’, spelled with a capital I, as a sign of respect, the same way that English or German are capitalized. The term carries the implicit notion of coming from the land and being of the land, as Wilson declares: “This is not only an accurate description of our people’s origins; it is also a political declaration about our claims to the land” (371). Occasionally, I also use ‘First Nations’ when referring to people with ‘Indian status’ in Canada. Since the 1970s, the term has been used to identify Indigenous peoples of Canada who are neither Métis nor Inuit, officially including both status and non-status Indians (ICTINC 2016; Joseph 2016; Younging 2018). Other terms that are in use regarding Indigenous people need to be used with special care. Although still commonly used in the United States, I refrain from using the term ‘Native/s’, as it is an outdated term referring to all of the Indigenous inhabitants of North America and has largely been replaced by ‘Indigenous’ because of the term’s derogatory connotation of ‘primitive’. While some First Nations individuals refer to themselves as ‘Native’, non-Indigenous people do not have the right to do so. Being derogatory and outdated, as well, the term ‘Indian’ is used in this book when referring to constructed, stereotyped and objectified images of Indigenous people. As the term ‘Indian’ is “the legal identity of an Indigenous person who is registered under the Indian Act” (Joseph 2016, 10),13 it is also used in discussions of legal matters or rights and benefits provided based on ‘Indian’ status. I also avoid using the term ‘Aboriginal people’, which is still appropriate, but might cause confusion with the ‘Aborigines’ of Australia in specific contexts. I will also avoid using possessive phrases like ‘Canada’s Indigenous peoples’ as this has connotations of ownership; rather I use ‘Indigenous peoples of Canada’. The phrase ‘Indigenous community’ is, however, used to include all Indigenous communities and tribes, regardless of recognition status, as status does not impact these groups’ sovereignty, interest in ancestral territory and resources, or the validity of traditional knowledge and cultural practices (ICTINC 2016; Joseph 2016; Younging 2018). On a different note, the term ‘site’ has been widely used in heritage literature. It seems, however, somewhat restricted, static and “tends to invoke a sense of welldefined archaeologically- or architecturally-mapped locations and locales, primarily 13 Joseph (2016, 11) differentiates between three categories of ‘Indian’: 1.) ‘Status Indians’ who are registered under the Indian Act; 2.) ‘Non-status Indians’ who lack status under the Indian Act, but have ‘Indian’ heritage; i.e. they have lost their status or their ancestors were never registered or lost their status under former or current provisions of the Indian Act; and 3.) ‘Treaty Indians’ who are members of a community whose ancestors signed a treaty with the British Government and as a result are entitled to treaty benefits.

Bibliography

21

of archaeological/architectural or other scientific/aesthetic value” (Smith 2006, 76).14 It also holds political notions of power and knowledge. The idea of ‘place’, though, “allows for a more fluid sense of physical boundaries, and also incorporates a sense that heritage has direct linkage to the construction of identity in a way that ‘site’ [. . .] does not” (ibid.). The term ‘site’ will, thus, be used when referring to designated places, while in other contexts the term ‘place’ is used. The debates and arguments set about and considered in this book draw on, and attempt to contribute to, the rise in ethnographic and sociological approaches that aim to understand the nature of heritage and “how the past is constituted and utilized in the present” (Smith 2006, 5). With this study I hope to contribute to current debates on community development, stewardship of heritage, and tourism and identity formation through heritage. While the representation of Indigenous peoples in museums has been thoroughly discussed, I venture to close a gap between studies on Indigenous participation in museums and endeavors into healing strategies of Indigenous communities from colonial trauma impacting the lives of Indigenous peoples in Canada. Ultimately, empowerment of Indigenous people is less about power, but more about respect, learning, keeping and holding, embracing and including different world views and ideas, and the concept of heritage embodies an important tool in these processes.

Bibliography Interviews and Personal Communication Hogan, Barbara, Manager, Historic Sites, Government of Yukon, Whitehorse, 02 Aug 2018 Neufeld, David, Environmental Historian, Whitehorse, 02/03 Aug 2018

Literature Arnstein, Sherry R. 1969. “A Ladder of Citizen Participation,” Journal of American Planning Association, 35(4), 216–224. Asch, Michael. 2009. “Concluding Thoughts and Fundamental Questions”, in: Catherine Bell and Robert K. Paterson (eds.), Protection of First Nations Cultural Heritage: Laws, Policy, and Reform. Vancouver: UBC Press, 394–411. Bell, Catherine, and Robert K. Paterson (eds.). 2009a. Protection of First Nations Cultural Heritage: Laws, Policy, and Reform. Vancouver: UBC Press. Bell, Catherine, and Robert K. Paterson. 2009b. “Introduction,” in: Catherine Bell and Robert K. Paterson (eds.), Protection of First Nations Cultural Heritage: Laws, Policy, and Reform. Vancouver: UBC Press, 3–12.

14 In heritage literature, the term ‘site’ is still dominant. There is, however, a shift towards the term ‘place’ in policy documents such as the revised Burra Charter (ICOMOS 2013).

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Bell, Catherine, and Val Napoleon (eds.). 2008a. First Nations Cultural Heritage and Law: Case Studies, Voices, and Perspectives. Vancouver: UBS Press. Bell, Catherine, and Val Napoleon. 2008b. “Introduction, Methodology, and Thematic Overview,” in: Catherine Bell and Val Napoleon (eds.). 2008. First Nations Cultural Heritage and Law: Case Studies, Voices, and Perspectives. Vancouver: UBS Press, 1–30. Bell, Lucy. 2016. Xaad Kilang T’alang Dagwiieehldang - Strengthening Our Haida Voice. MA Thesis. Victoria, BC: University of Victoria. Biancalana, Renata Neves. 2007. The Importance of Heritage in Community Education: The Case of Serra da Capivara National Park – Brazil. Unpublished MA-Thesis. Cottbus: Brandenburgische Technische Universität. Buggey, Susan. 1999. An Approach to Aboriginal Cultural Landscapes. Ottawa: Historic Sites and Monuments Board of Canada. Cajete, Gregory. 2000. Native Science: Natural Laws of Interdependence. Santa Fe: Clear Light Press. Chino, Michelle, and Lemyra DeBruyn. 2006. “Building True Capacity: Indigenous Models for Indigenous Communities,” American Journal of Public Health, 96(4), 596–599. Chitty, Gill (ed.). 2016. Heritage, Conservation and Communities. Engagement, Participation and Capacity Building. London: Routledge. Cornwall, Andrea. 2002. “Locating Citizen Participation,” IDS Bulletin, 33(2), 49–58. Cultural Survival. 2020. “Celebrating 13 Years of the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples,” 12 September, https://www.culturalsurvival.org/news/celebrating-13-years-undeclaration-rights-indigenous-peoples [accessed 12 Apr 2021]. Di Giovine, Michael. 2009. The Heritage-Scape: UNESCO, World Heritage, and Tourism. Plymouth: Lexington Books. Di Giovine, Michael. 2015. “UNESCO’s World Heritage Program: The Challenges and Ethics of Community Participation,” in: Adell, Nicolas, Regina F. Bendix, Chiara Bortolotto and Markus Tauschek (eds.), Between Imagined Communities and Communities of Practice: Participation, Territory and the Making of Heritage. Göttingen: Universitätsverlag, 83–108. Disko, Stefan. 2012. “World Heritage Sites and Indigenous Communities: The Importance of Adopting a Human Rights-Based Approach,” in: Marie-Theres Albert, Marielle Richon, Marie José Viñals, and Andrea Witcomb (eds.), Community Development through World Heritage. Paris: UNESCO, 16–26. Disko, Stefan, Helen Tugendhat and Lola García-Alix. 2014. “World Heritage Sites and Indigenous Peoples’ Rights: An Introduction,” in: Stefan Disko and Helen Tugendhat (eds.), 2014, World Heritage Sites and Indigenous Peoples’ Rights. Copenhagen: IWGIA, Forrest Peoples Programme and Gundjeihmi Aboriginal Corporation, 3–37. Galla, Amareswar. 1997. “Indigenous Peoples, Museums, and Ethics,” in: Gary Edson (ed.), Museum Ethics. London and New York: Routledge, 132–155. Hart, Michael A. 2010. “Indigenous Worldviews, Knowledge, and Research: The Development of an Indigenous Research Paradigm,” Journal of Indigenous Voices in Social Work, 1(1), 1–16. Held, Mirjam B.E. 2019. “Decolonizing Research Paradigms in the Context of Settler Colonialism: An Unsettling, Mutual, and Collaborative Effort,” The International Journal of Qualitative Methods, January, 18(1), 1–16. ICOMOS. 1981a. World Heritage List No. 157. Paris: ICOMOS. ICOMOS. 1981b. World Heritage List No. 158 – Advisory Body Evaluation. Paris: ICOMOS. ICOMOS. 2013. The Burra Charter. The Australia ICOMOS Charter for Places of Cultural Significance. Burwood: Australia ICOMOS. ICTINC (Indigenous Corporate Training Inc.). 2016. “Indigenous Peoples Terminology Guidelines for Usage,” 20 July, https://www.ictinc.ca/blog/indigenous-peoples-terminology-guidelinesfor-usage [accessed 05 Aug 2020]. Joannou, Ashley. 2018. “Canada Withdraws Klondike World Heritage Site Bid,” Yukon News, 18 May, https://www.yukon-news.com/news/canada-withdraws-klondike-world-heritage-sitebid/ [accessed 14 Jan 2021].

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Joseph, Bob. 2016. Indigenous Peoples: A Guide to Terminology. Port Coquitlam, BC: Indigenous Incorporate Training Inc. Kristensen, Tood, and Michael Donnelly. 2018. “Cliffside Stories: How Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump Feeds Today’s Generations,” National Trust for Canada, 16 April, https:// nationaltrustcanada.ca/online-stories/cliffside-stories-how-head-smashed-in-buffalo-jumpfeeds-todays-generations [accessed 05 Aug 2020]. Labonte, Ronald, and Glenn Laverack. 2001. “Capacity Building in Health Promotion, Part 1: For whom? And for What Purpose?” Critical Public Health, 11(2), 111–127. LaFrance, Joan. 2004. “Culturally Competent Evaluation in Indian Country,” New Directions for Evaluation, 102, 39–50. Le Goff, Jacques. 1992. History and Memory. New York: Columbia University Press. Marsh, Alby et al. 2018. Building Resilience in Indigenous Communities Through Engagement: A Focus on Biosecurity Threats. Palmerston: Plant Biosecurity Cooperative Research Centre. Moffat, Michele. 2016. “Exploring Positionality in an aboriginal Research Paradigm: A Unique Perspective,” International Journal of Technology and Inclusive Education, 5(1), 750–755. Onciul, Bryony. 2015. Museums, Heritage and Indigenous Voice: Decolonizing Engagement. London: Routledge. Poole, Peter. 2003. Cultural Mapping and Indigenous Peoples: A Report for UNESCO. Paris: UNESCO. Saami Council. 2008. The Cultural Heritage of Indigenous Peoples and Its Protection: Rights and Challenges. Rovaniemi: Saami Council. Sandalack, Beverly A. 2019. “Head-Smashed-In – Some Challenges Where Site is Museum,” in: Kerstin Smeds and Ann Davis (eds.), Museum & Place. Paris: ICOFOM, 162–170. Skrede, Joar, and Herdis Hølleland. 2018. “Uses of Heritage and Beyond: Heritage Studies Viewed Through the Lens of Critical Discourse Analysis and Critical Realism,” Journals of Social Archaeology, 18(1), 77–96. Smith, Laurajane. 2004. Archaeological Theory and the Politics of Cultural Heritage. London and New York: Routledge. Smith, Laurajane. 2006. Uses of Heritage. London: Routledge. Smith, Linda Tuhiwai. 2012 [1999]. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples. Second Edition. London and New York: Zed Books. TK Nom (Tr’ondëk-Klondike World Heritage Site Stewardship Board). 2017. Tr’ondëk-Klondike Nomination for Inscription UNESCO World Heritage List. Dawson City: Tr’ondëk-Klondike World Heritage Site Stewardship Board. UNESCO. 1972. Convention Concerning the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage. Paris: The General Conference. UNESCO. 2003. Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage. Paris: General Conference. UNESCO. 2005. Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions. Paris: General Conference. UNESCO. 2021f. World Heritage, http://whc.unesco.org/en/about/ [accessed 27 Sep 2021]. UNESCO. 2021g. World Heritage and Indigenous Peoples, https://whc.unesco.org/en/activities/ 496/ [accessed 04 May 2021]. UNESCO. 2023a. Tentative Lists, https://whc.unesco.org/en/tentativelists/ [accessed 14 Jan 2023]. UNESCO. 2023b. World Heritage List, http://whc.unesco.org/en/list [accessed 14 Jan 2023]. UNESCO. 2023c. World Heritage List Statistics, http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/stat [accessed 14 Jan 2023]. von Lewinski, Silke. 2004. “Protecting Cultural Expressions: The Perspective of Law,” in: Erich Kasten (ed.) Properties of Culture – Cultures as Property: Pathways to Reform in Post-Soviet Siberia. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag, 112–127. Waterton, Emma and Laurajane Smith. 2010. “The Recognition and Misrecognition of Community Heritage,” International Journal of Heritage Studies, 16(1–2), 4–15.

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Waterton, Emma. 2010. Politics, Policy and the Discourses of Heritage in Britain. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Waterton, Emma, Laurajane Smith, and Gary Campbell. 2006. “The Utility of Discourse Analysis to Heritage Studies: The Burra Charter and Social Inclusion,” International Journal of Heritage Studies, 12(4), 339–355. Waziyatawin (Angela Cavender Wilson). 2004. “Reclaiming Our Humanity: Decolonization and the Recovery of Indigenous Knowledge,” in: Devon Abbot Mihesuah and Angela Cavender Wilson (eds.). Indigenizing the Academy: Transforming Scholarship and Empowering Communities. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 69–87. Wilson, Shawn. 2001. “What is an Indigenous Research Methodology?,” Canadian Journal of Native Education, 25(2), 175–179. Wilson, Shawn. 2008. Research is Ceremony: Indigenous Research Methods. Halifax: Fernwood Publ. Wolfe, Patrick. 2006. “Settler Colonialism and the Elimination of the Native,” Journal of Genocide Research, 8(4), 387–409. Younging, Gregory. 2018. Elements of Indigenous Style: A Guide for Writing by and about Indigenous Peoples. Edmonton: Brush Education Inc.

Chapter 2

Ideas, Concepts and Uses of Heritage

Heritage is our legacy from the past, what we live with today, and what we pass on to future generations. Our cultural and natural heritage are both irreplaceable sources of life and inspiration. UNESCO, World Heritage Our heritage is our way of life as part of the land. In our way we do not divide heritage into separate categories. What we consider directly related to our history and culture is not affected by Western classification. Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage Act (2016)

Abstract The chapter addresses the different ideas, concepts, and uses of ‘cultural heritage’ at large and within a UNESCO context in particular, giving an overview of the current research in the field. Discussing critical heritage discourses with an emphasis on the ‘authorized heritage discourse’ and Indigenous heritage discourses, it reflects on the roles and functions of heritage and, more specifically, on World Heritage sites and cultural landscapes. Taking a closer look at UNESCO structures and the processes of nomination and protection, the chapter also examines the process of categorizing World Heritage, considers concepts of cultural diversity and Indigenous representation, the complex approach of cultural landscapes, and the representation and interpretation of heritage in exhibitions. It reviews heritage as a cultural construct and process with regard to identity, memory, and place. Finally, investigating the understanding and scope of tangible and intangible cultural heritage, it looks at the visibility and accessibility of Indigenous cultural heritage in the context of tourism and the representation of Indigenous heritage within museums. Keywords Heritage discourses · Memory · Critical Discourse Analysis · Indigenous heritage discourse · UNESCO · Cultural landscape · Museum · Indigenous museology · Tourism

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 G. Susemihl, Claiming Back Their Heritage, Heritage Studies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-40063-6_2

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World Heritage has been described by UNESCO as the “legacy from the past, what we live with today, and what we pass on to future generations” (2021c). This definition, its division into categories and its ‘outstanding universal value’ have been captured in a framework of official UNESCO guidelines and documents. Indeed, the notion of ‘World Heritage’ is a complex and multifaceted phenomenon, incorporating and reflecting political, economic, social and cultural views as well as global, national, regional and local developments concerning World Heritage sites. Indigenous people have been living with their heritage for generations, yet only a few put their concepts of heritage down in writing. The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Nation defined their notion of heritage as “their way of life as part of the land” in which “knowledge and understanding of history, culture, and survival is passed on from generation to generation by parents and Elders” (TH Heritage Act 2016, 2–3). Refraining from categorizing heritage, their definition appears inclusive and all-embracing. Empowerment, capacity building and the development of local Indigenous communities through World Heritage is located within these differing views of heritage and is an issue laden with political tension. According to UNESCO, World Heritage sites are meant to belong to all the peoples of the world. This statement carries notions of universal ownership of place, general and common understandings of heritage and freedom of mind. It is a remarkable and most visionary statement and aspiration. At the same time, however, it is heavily contested and implies several difficulties and challenges. UNESCO’s powerful ‘peacemaking’ concept, its universal claim and the creation of World Heritage imply specific authorities and power structures. World Heritage sites may have been recognized as the ‘heritage of humanity’; it is, however, the local community that is maintaining and managing it and “has the future of World Heritage in its hands” and, thus, “needs to be effectively empowered to manage and protect it,” notes Deegan (2012, 82). Today, local communities are considered as crucial stakeholders in all heritage processes, from the writing of nominations to safeguarding efforts. While the multivocality of World Heritage makes the involvement of various groups of stakeholders, among them Indigenous groups, necessary, heritage ‘experts’ such as anthropologist and archaeologist are no longer the “cultural brokers” (ibid., 77), and their roles as facilitators and interpreters of heritage have been challenged by Indigenous communities. To discuss Indigenous and UNESCO’s notion of heritage and their relationship, different ideas, concepts and uses of heritage need to be considered. The notion of heritage and its discourses and uses have been explored by many scholars. Dichotomies such as culture and nature, past and present, tangible and intangible heritage have been discussed, and the interconnected concepts of identity, memory and place as aspects of uses of heritage explored. Heritage has been connected to concepts of place and landscape, museums and tourism. The use of the concept of World Heritage as a vehicle for community development has also been discussed and the importance of community participation in heritage management recognized (e.g., Deegan 2012; Disko 2012; Disko et al. 2014; Hall and McArthur 1998). The overarching objective of this chapter is to clarify terms and concepts of heritage and give an overview of the current research in the field. For the project ahead, it is essential to have a critical and nuanced understanding of the ways in which various

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terms are used, interact and build upon each other. Taking a closer view at UNESCO structures and processes of nomination and protection, this chapter also examines the process of categorizing World Heritage, cultural diversity and Indigenous representation, the complex approach of cultural landscapes and the representation and interpretation of heritage in exhibitions.

2.1

Discourses of Heritage

People explore and experience heritage in a variety of ways. Consequently, the ways in which heritage is defined, delivered and consumed differ considerably. Scholars, professionals and practitioners in diverse fields have become involved in heritagerelated work, and the interdisciplinary interest is reflected in a vast literary body on heritage, in the growth of official processes of heritage conservation into a multibillion dollar industry, and in the increased use of heritage in the construction of both national and community identity (Harrison 2010a). As a result, there are a number of different approaches and perspectives of heritage, and definitions have become ever more fluid and broader. Laurajane Smith, who has written extensively in the field of critical heritage studies, announced that “there is, really, no such thing as heritage” (2006, 11). Making this bold statement, she draws on a persistent debate about heritage concerning Western forms of conservation, in which museumification, interpretation and tourism play a role. She argues that there are only opinions and debates about heritage, but that heritage itself is not something that is self-defining, and, thus, challenges a model that sees heritage as intrinsic value of an object, place or practice. Smith also states that the “definitions of heritage that we adopt, and the language that we use to frame conservation, preservation, interpretation and other management practices, have consequences – they matter in terms of practice” (ibid., 299). Consequently, there is a constant struggle to control the uses of heritage within society. World Heritage sites, therefore, have to be perceived and interpreted within different and inherently contradicting heritage discourses, i.e., within the ways that ideas about ‘heritage’ are constructed and legitimated.

2.1.1

Heritage as Product and Process

Heritage has been described and interpreted as an object, cultural product and/or resource with social and political functions (Lowenthal 1985, 1997) that may be preserved, conserved and handed down from one generation to the next. The Oxford English Dictionary defines ‘heritage’ as “property that is or may be inherited; an inheritance” (Lexico.com 2020). This property may include “valued objects and qualities such as historic buildings and cultural traditions that have been passed down from previous generations,” and that often relate “to things of special architectural, historical or natural value that are preserved for the nation” (ibid.). Heritage may, thus, be understood to be a physical object, i.e., a piece of property, a building

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or an artifact, a place, site or landscape that can be owned and passed on, from the past to the present, and its “integrity is to be protected, possibly to be enjoyed and to be augmented, but not to be used up, before being passed on to the future” (Heyd 2002, 85). In heritage literature there tends to be a distinction between tangible and intangible heritage. Tangible heritage includes buildings, historic places, landscapes and artifacts. Intangible heritage comprises traditions or living expressions inherited from our ancestors, such as oral traditions, language, social practices, customs, rituals, values, spiritual beliefs, artistic expressions, the knowledge and skills to produce traditional crafts or other traditions that help us to understand who we are and how we function within society and culture. Both categories, however, belong together and do not exist without the other. With every object, place, or other tangible heritage, there is intangible heritage connected that covers it and wraps around it. This ‘wrapping’ might be the language that is used to describe it, or its use in cultural practice or religion (Harrison 2010a, 10). Heritage is, as Smith argues, “not so much a ‘thing’ as a set of values and meanings” and “therefore ultimately a cultural practice, involved in the construction and regulation of a range of values and understandings” (2006, 11). In an epistemological sense all heritage can be understood as intangible, and when researching material heritage, the focus must shift from an ‘object-oriented’ study of products to the study of processes “through which objects materialize in social practice” (Waller 2016, 194). Another common way of classifying heritage is to distinguish between ‘cultural’ heritage and ‘natural’ heritage. Heyd defines natural heritage as distinctive from cultural heritage being “the stock of goods valued for its natural provenance” (2002, 85), while cultural heritage refers to things manufactured by humans. This distinction, however, raises a series of problems in defining the ‘social’ value of the natural world. Harrison points out that the natural world has always been “created and maintained by ‘cultural’ activities and ceremonies involving some aspects of intangible action” (2010a, 11). For Indigenous people these might include song and dance as well as activities such as controlled burning of the landscape in the prairies and sustainable hunting and fishing in the Pacific Northwest. It is, therefore, difficult to characterize these values of the natural landscape to Indigenous peoples using a system that divides ‘cultural’ and ‘natural’ heritage and sees “the values of natural landscapes as being primarily ecological” (ibid.). Whatever shape it takes, heritage is significant due to its economic value, but even more because it creates emotions within people, and helps to strengthen a sense of belonging to a country, a tradition, or a way of life. Heritage is, therefore, of great historical, cultural and social importance and can be interpreted against the backdrop of socioeconomic, political, ethnic, religious and philosophical values of a particular group of people, which has been given as a reason why heritage ‘requires’ an active effort to safeguard it. Lowenthal argues that “heritage, far from being fatally predetermined or God-given, is in large measure our own marvellously malleable creation” (1985, 226). Most important here is the notion that heritage is constructed and can be defined as a socioeconomic and cultural process or an outcome, which is often bound up with power relations. It does not exist per se, but is a social construction and created by discourse. In fact, the discursive construction of heritage is itself part of

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the cultural and social process that are heritage. As this process occurs in the present, the present becomes the only referent of heritage. In that respect, heritage is not a natural or primordial phenomenon, but can be understood as a culturally defined communicative practice (Dicks 2000a, b) and people have to be taught ‘heritage’ (Harvey 2001). As it is always created, Graham and Howard (2008, 1) argue that the term ‘heritage’ should be considered as a plural, because ‘heritages’ have many uses and multiple producers. Thus, distinguishing between two ‘phases’ of heritage, i.e., the historical formation of a site as heritage, and the individual consumption of visitors in its current setting, Harvey (2001, 327) understands heritage as a process that is linked to human agency and an instrument of power. McDowell (2008, 37) defines heritage as a political process, pliable to the needs of power. In this regard, heritage has a series of specific legal meanings and may be defined as objects, places and practices that need to be formally protected using heritage laws (Harrison 2010a).

2.1.2

The Rise of Heritage

The present concept of ‘heritage’ is closely linked with the emergence of capitalism, nationalism and nation states, and strongly influences current heritage discourses. It emerged in Europe within the context of nineteenth-century modernity and colonialism (Bennett 1995; Walsh 1992) and is deeply embedded within Eurocentric, colonial values and world views. Smith states: Through colonial expansion new dialogues about race developed, and ethnic and cultural identity became firmly linked with concepts of biology or ‘blood’, and Europeans believed themselves to be representative of the highest achievements of human technical, cultural and intellectual progress. Debates over Darwinian evolution had also cemented the social utility and rationality of science, and social Darwinism had further helped to naturalize the conceptual link between identity and race, and the inevitability of European cultural and technical advancement and achievement (2006, 17).

Smith explains further that during the industrial revolution and urbanization of the nineteenth century many people in Europe lost a sense of social and geographical security, while revolutions and uprisings altered the European sense of historical consciousness and “undermined previous ideas of territorial sovereignty” (ibid., 18). Nation states emerged and nationalism developed as a “new meta-narrative to bind populations to a shifting sense of territorial identity and to legitimized state formation” (ibid.). The emerging capitalist structures called for “new devices to ensure or express social cohesion and identity and to structure social relations” (Hobsbawm 1982, 263). Within this “context of the developing narrative of nationalism and of a universal modernity [. . .] a new concern for ‘heritage’ emerged” (Smith 2006, 18). This new nationalism and awareness of a modern Europe were expressed in monumental buildings that needed to be protected and managed “for the edification of the public, and as physical representations of national identity and European taste and achievement” (ibid.).

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Because of this development and a desire for propagating the new values of nationalism, a sense of moral responsibility emerged to educate the public about their civil and national duties and for nurturing a sense of national community and responsibility. Museums developed to communicate these new conditions and narratives of progress, and rationality and cultural identity were represented in exhibition and collections. Taking on a regulatory role in helping to establish and govern both social and national identity, museums became sources and manifestations of national identity and cultural achievements (Bennett 1995; Smith 2006). Also, the conservation and management of historic buildings and monuments1 became interesting, and legislation was passed to protect ancient monuments and religious and other architecturally and historically significant buildings. Architects, historians and archaeologists were instrumental in the development of legislations and regulations, claiming professional expertise over material culture and taking on a vital role in identifying and protecting the appropriate monuments and sites. A sense of pastoral care and a moral obligation for conservation developed and became institutionalized: Educating the public about the value and meaning of historic buildings and monuments also became embedded in a sense of a ‘conservation ethic’ that to disseminate these values was to ensure greater conservation awareness and appreciation of a nation’s cultural heritage. This sense of a conservation ethic became institutionalized in organizations [. . .] one function of which it was to lobby and educate government and society at large about ‘proper’ conservation principles and about the value and aesthetic significance of ancient buildings (Smith 2019, 19).

However, only the well-educated had the necessary cultural literacy to understand grand social and national narratives that were inherent in the fabric of such monuments. A sense of trusteeship over the past developed that became embedded and propagated in legislations, policy and conservation principles and practices throughout the twentieth century that eventually spread to other parts of the world. Smith states that this “sense of inheritance promotes the idea that the present has a particular ‘duty’ to the past and its monuments,” which is “to receive and revere what has been passed on and in turn pass this inheritance, untouched, to future generations” (ibid.). Principles of the conservation of buildings for their historical and architectural value have become embedded in various documents such as the Athens Charter for the Restoration of Historic Monuments (1931) and the International Charter for the Conservation and Restoration of Monuments and Sites (1964) – the first of a number of ICOMOS charters to frame the debates about heritage conservation and management practices. Through these documents, Smith argues, European ideas about conservation “have become internationally naturalized, so that these principles have become global ‘common sense’” (ibid.), and As Choay (2001) and Smith (2006) illustrate, the notion and term of ‘monument’ came to represent power, greatness, beauty and a sense of a grand public scheme and aesthetic sensibilities during the seventeenth century. As “a witness to history and a work of art” (Choay 2001, 15), the monument “took on a commemorative role in triggering certain public memories and values, and is a concept that has come to embody a particular European vision of the world” (Smith 2006, 19).

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Byrne (1991) claims that they have become hegemonic, and Western conservation ethics have been imposed on many non-Western nations. These developments reverberate within UNESCO policies and structures, influencing the understanding of World Heritage and causing difficulties with alternative, particularly Indigenous, perceptions of heritage and its management.

2.1.3

Critical Discourse Analysis

As has been shown, there are many ways of talking about, seeing and, thereby, constructing heritage. As contemporary scholarship informs us that culture constitutes, concepts of discourse and social construction have been vastly applied to explain social processes, constructs and “the web of assumptions that collect around a cultural fact” (Acocella 2007, n.p.), among them heritage. From a discursive perspective, the world and things that occur in it are all constructed. As different cultures have different histories, conditions, issues and aspirations, cultural discourses that represent them have different objects of construction, ideas, understandings, perspectives and values that constitute different cultural worlds (Shi-xu 2005, 62). There are also different discourses of heritage, embracing different ideas, understandings, meanings, perspectives and values of heritage (ibid.). Heritage discourse, thus, “shapes the way heritage is constructed, identified, interpreted, valued, conserved, managed and used” (Wu and Hou 2015, 41). Considering different interpretations of heritage, some approaches appear more successful than others in explaining power structures and integrating material and immaterial components. Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA) has been employed as such a tool for analyzing the messages that surround heritage in contemporary society by a number of scholars (e.g., Smith 2004, 2006; Skrede and Hølleland 2018; Waterton 2010; Waterton et al. 2006; Wu and Hou 2015). As an interdisciplinary methodology for analyzing discourses and practices, CDA offers a theoretical platform and methodological approach to identify and understand how people organize themselves and act through particular discourses, revealing human relationships and social actions and issues (Hall 2005, 2011; Harrison and Linkman 2010). Critical Discourse Analysis is closely associated with the work of Michel Foucault (1971, 1973, and 1979) and his critical analysis of social institutions. Being concerned with the complex relations between power and knowledge and the epistemological issues of knowledge construction and practice (1980), Foucault argues that mechanisms of power produce different types of knowledge that assemble information on people’s activities and existence. Since knowledge gathered in this way reinforces the exercising of power, he identifies knowledge as a particular technique of power (1991). By discourse, then, Foucault means “a group of statements which provide a language for talking about – a way of representing the knowledge about – a particular topic at a particular historical moment” (Hall 1992, 291). He sees discourse in terms of a concept of knowledge and “practices that systematically form the objects” of which certain groups of signs speak (Foucault 1972, 49).

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In CDA, discourse is defined as a type of social practice, involving social conditions of production and interpretation (Fairclough 1995, 2003; Hall 1992). Discourse is, thus, a product of its environment and functions within environments through processes of interaction and semantic choice. CDA is not only concerned with analyzing ‘texts’ as the realization of such environments, but with analyzing the relationships between texts, processes and social conditions. Accordingly, three dimensions arise within CDA: description concerning the formal properties of the text, interpretation concerning the relationship between text and interaction, and explanation concerning the relationship between interaction and social context (Fairclough 1989). Discourse is, as Hall states, “about the production of knowledge through language. But since all social practices entail meaning, and meanings shape and influence what we do [. . .] all practices have a discourse aspect” (1992, 291). Thus, discourses can be seen as “institutionalized ways of thinking about particular topics, or ‘world views’” (Harrison and Linkman 2010, 75) and forms of communication that require specialized knowledge. Discourse is also always marked by power and control, limitation and exclusion (Foucault 1971). Foucault suggested that “discourses have a normative function which influences the way in which people view the subject of communication, establishing a series of boundaries which include particular sorts of attitudes, practices and views while excluding others” (Harrison and Linkman 2010, 75, emphasis in original). This is done through the way in which they reinforce certain structures of authority. Discourses, thus, “materialize particular forms of practices and structures that assist in the reproduction of the ideas in which they rest in different social fields” (ibid.). These different aspects – specific ‘texts’, organizations and institutions of experts and their practices, and the ‘truths’ and forms of reality that they establish – can be seen as parts of the discourse that work together to influence and define the way in which we view specific fields and our position as a whole. In CDA, then, text and talk play a key role in maintaining and legitimating inequality, injustice and oppression in society. There exist competing and inter-relating discourses that have an impact on how people think about and interact with the social and physical world. They also influence how ideas are put into practice and are used to regulate the conduct of others. This, in turn, means that discourse can limit and restrict other ways of talking and producing knowledge, which can be applied to the idea of heritage.

2.1.4

The ‘Authorized Heritage Discourse’

Smith’s notion of an ‘authorized heritage discourse’ draws closely on the ideas of CDA, particularly on the sense that discourse both reflects and makes up a particular set of sociopolitical practices. Employing the methodology of CDA on the role of heritage in society, she argues that there exists a self-referential hegemonic discourse about heritage, which acts to constitute the way people think, talk and write about heritage. Smith states:

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The ‘heritage’ discourse [. . .] naturalizes the practice of rounding up the usual suspects to conserve and ‘pass on’ to future generations, and in so doing promotes a certain set of Western elite cultural values as being universally applicable. Consequently, this discourse validates a set of practices and performances, which populates both popular and expert constructions of ‘heritage’ and undermines alternative and subaltern ideas about ‘heritage.’ At the same time, the ‘work’ that ‘heritage’ ‘does’ as a social and cultural practice is obscured, as a result of the naturalizing effects of what I call the ‘authorized heritage discourse’ (Smith 2006, 11).

Smith defines the AHD as a set of texts and practices that dictate the ways in which heritage is defined and employed within contemporary Western society. The word ‘authorized’ indicates who and what constitutes whether a particular site will qualify as heritage or not. Taking its cue from the grand narrative of nation and class, this discourse is reliant on the power/knowledge claims of ‘experts’. Authority in that regard is strongly anchored within state-sanctioned agencies and national and international bodies like UNESCO and ICOMOS, legitimizing dominant narratives and revealing a vast international bureaucracy that decides what World Heritage is and exercise immense influence over its management. This discourse constitutes the ideas of heritage in such a way as to exclude certain actors and interests from actively engaging with heritage. Smith states that the AHD “reinforces ideas of innate cultural value tied to time depth, monumentality, expert knowledge and aesthetics” (ibid., 299). There are several aspects of the AHD in “constituting and legitimizing what heritage is, and in defining who has the ability to speak for and about the nature and meaning of heritage” (ibid.). Firstly, the AHD defines the legitimate expert speakers for the past. Using ‘the past’ as shorthand to ‘heritage’, the past itself becomes a vague construct and subject to the judgement of ‘experts’ such as archaeologists and historians who analyse and study it. Smith argues that terms like ‘the past’ when used to discuss heritage “disengage us from the very real emotional and cultural work that the past does as heritage for individuals and communities” (2006, 29). The past, however, is not abstract, but has material and immaterial reality as heritage and narrative and cannot be merely reduced to archaeological data or historical texts. Another aspect is that the AHD underlines the authority of expertise through the idea of inheritance and patrimony and the concern that heritage must be saved for “nebulous future generations for their ‘education’ and to forge a sense of common identity based on the past” (ibid.). For this reason, ‘experts’ such as architects, historians and archaeologists of the current generation act as stewards for the past, working to disengage certain social actors in the present from actively using heritage. This idea or rhetoric undermines the ability of the present, unless under the professional guidance of heritage professionals, to alter or change the meaning and value of heritage sites or places, thus, disempowering the present from actively rewriting and using the past. Also, heritage is seen as innately valuable “to represent all that is good and important about the past, which has contributed to the development of the cultural character of the present” (ibid.). Accordingly, the proper care of heritage, and its associated values, lies with the experts, as it is only they who have the abilities, knowledge and understanding to identify the value and knowledge contained at and within heritage.

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Within the narrative of nation, the AHD also promotes the experiences and values of elite social classes, alienating other social and cultural experiences. Consequently, the AHD has been criticized for excluding the historical, cultural and social experiences of diverse groups such as women, ethnic and other community groups, constraining and limiting their critique “by privileging the expert and their values over those of the non-expert, and by the self-referential nature of the discourse, which continually legitimizes itself and the values and ideologies on which it is based” (ibid., 30). A further aspect of the AHD is the idea of ‘boundedness’ that is linked to the idea of materiality. Traditionally, heritage has been conceived as a site, object or structure with identifiable boundaries that can be mapped, surveyed and placed on registers. This method of reducing “the concept of heritage to ‘manageable’ and discrete locales helps to reduce the social, cultural or historical conflicts about the meaning, value or nature of heritage, or more broadly the past, into discrete and specific conflicts over individual sites and/or technical issues of site management” (ibid., 31) that are manageable by ‘experts’. Lately, though, the idea of cultural landscape as heritage makes both conceptual and physical space for a broader spectrum of competing values and meanings than the idea of ‘site’. Finally, within the AHD, heritage is not defined as an active process or experience, but as something that is engaged with passively. It is seen as the subject of a passive ‘gaze’ in which the audience will “uncritically consume the message of heritage constructed by heritage experts” (ibid., 31), who guide and instruct the visitors. Often, heritage is combined with mass tourism, and visitors to heritage sites are seen as passive receptors and consumers of the ‘authorized’ heritage message. Consequently, non-traditional conceptions of heritage where heritage is ‘used’ are excluded. This creates significant barriers for active public negotiation about the meaning and nature of heritage and the social and cultural roles that it may play. Smith argues that “what is absent in the AHD is a sense of ‘action’ or critical engagement on the part of the non-expert users of heritage, as heritage is about receiving the wisdom and knowledge” of experts, thus, obscuring “the sense of memory work, performativity and acts of remembrance” that are occurring at heritage sites (ibid., 34). Hence, the AHD “establishes and sanctions a top-down relationship between expert, heritage site and ‘visitor’, in which the expert ‘translates’ [. . .] the site and its meanings to the visitor,” being “perceived as an authentic and legitimate way of understanding and using heritage sites for those involved” (ibid.). In Smith’s argumentation, the ‘authorized heritage discourse’ is the primary way in which heritage is constituted, and it works to exclude, despite the well-meaning intentions of individual practitioners, which will be demonstrated in the first case study. Smith states: [. . .] the power of the AHD also lies in the way it continually legitimizes the experiences and worldviews of dominant narratives about nation, class, culture and ethnicity – experiences and understandings about the world that traditionally find synergy with the institutions and bodies of expertise that use and promote the discourse. This is not to say that the AHD cannot be changed, but that without recognizing the ideological and political underpinnings of the discourse any attempts at change may be confined to particular events rather than represent a real systemic challenge (Smith 2006, 299).

2.1

Discourses of Heritage

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While institutions such as UNESCO institutionalize the AHD through documents and processes of management and conservation, Indigenous people frame heritage differently.

2.1.5

Indigenous Heritage Discourses

The ‘authorized heritage discourse’ is neither undisputed nor immutable, and there are many dissenting discourses and critiques about the nature, meaning and use of heritage, including expressions of subaltern discourses of community participation in heritage management and conservation processes and the critique of the heritage industry and tourism. Besides, societies “are experiencing greater socio-spatial segregation as they become more culturally diverse [. . .], a fragmentation which raises issues as to how this heterogeneity should be reflected in heritage selection, interpretation and management” (Graham and Howard 2008, 1). As not only UNESCO and national heritage institutions show, experts within the field struggle for a more inclusive approach to heritage, leaving more agency and space to non-Western, local groups and promoting a more diverse heritage experience. Consequently, the ‘authorized heritage discourse’ comes into conflict with alternative views of heritage and its role in the production of national histories and local religious and cultural practices. Issues arise particularly involving the ownership of heritage and the power that such ownership conveys on the owner. Indigenous people have challenged the existing heritage discourse. What started with issues surrounding the reclamation and reburial of human remains, claims to control their past have been more profound than simple conflicts over the possession or ‘ownership’ of particular objects, as Smith states: The issues revolve around the cultural politics of identity – who has the legitimacy and power to define who a particular group or community are and who they are not. [. . .] The ability to control your own identity, to define who you are and to establish a sense of community belonging is emotionally and politically a powerful act (2006, 35).

The desire to identify with community groups arose after agitation by Indigenous groups for greater inclusion and consideration of their own needs, aspirations and values concerning the way the past is used in present society. Indigenous criticism was primarily targeted at the authorities that have the power to define how the past is used to legitimize (or not) specific forms of identity within Western societies, i.e., at archaeologists, anthropologists and museum curators, and predominantly made within post-colonial contexts in nation states such as Canada. Besides the issue of community participation, other problems have been pointed out by Indigenous people. One issue is that often traditional and authorized definitions of heritage tell nationalizing stories that do not reflect the cultural or social experiences of Indigenous groups. This is problematic, according to Smith, as “it discounts the historical legitimacy of the experiences of these communities and, thus, the social, cultural and/or political roles they play in the present are ignored or

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trivialized” (2006, 36). It also helps to disguise continuing social inequities and maintains social and political marginalization. Likewise, definitions of heritage that emphasise its materiality do not acknowledge intangible forms of heritage, which marginalizes or denies the importance of processes in terms of identity formation in Indigenous communities. Likewise, the idea to conserve heritage as it is ‘found’ means that active uses, interactions and engagements with heritage become problematic. Today, community groups attempt to step out of their role as passive ‘visitors’ and aim at ‘using’ the sites. Moreover, the universalizing tendencies of the World Heritage Convention have been criticized by Indigenous peoples for failing to incorporate culturally relevant concepts of heritage. Any discourse, particularly when it is promoted by bodies of ‘experts’, state-sanctioned agencies and international bodies like UNESCO carries power, which leads to a complex, dynamic process of meaning-making. Accordingly, not only Indigenous people have articulated a need to de-center Eurocentric ideas and move to a post-Western understanding of heritage that learns from Indigenization and is more diverse. Indigenous heritage discourses can be characterized as being inclusive, de-centred and focussed on the relationships between people and land. For Indigenous people, this relationship is primary, as the land is an essential source of spiritual and economic well-being, while the land’s custodians are significantly involved in undertaking spiritual and physical maintenance activities to take care of the land and continue its processes of regeneration. Land has always been part of their identity, and a “sense of identity must inevitably draw on a sense of history and memory – who and what we are as individuals, communities or nations is indelibly formed by our sense of history and the way individual and collective memory is understood, commemorated and propagated” (Smith 2006, 36). Smith attempts to encounter a sense of heritage that is more inclusive of alternate discourses and provide a framework for analyzing the use of heritage beyond that already identified within the heritage industry critique. Nonetheless there is a need to look more closely at concepts and ‘uses’ of heritage by Indigenous people. While the three case studies will try to fill this gap, a general discussion of heritage ‘uses’ for a better understanding seems necessary at this point.

2.2

Uses of Heritage as Cultural Concept and Process: Identity, Memory, Place

As has been shown, heritage is much more than an object, artifact or site. It is, also, what people ‘do’ at heritage sites and how and for what purpose they ‘use’ heritage. While heritage as a process draws on the past, it is closely related to our identity formation in the present, and, as McDowell notes, we “manipulate it for validation, legitimization and unity” (2008, 49). As such, heritage can be used as a political tool to establish a notion of identity by connecting it to sites, artifacts and traditions from the past, thus, “serving certain agencies and groups through communicating

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narratives of inclusion and exclusion, continuity and instability” (ibid.). Heritage can be instrumentalized in many ways, and Indigenous people have been using it to legitimize their claims to territories or resources. As heritage can be seen as a means for Indigenous empowerment and community development, this section delivers a closer examination of the complex ‘uses’ of heritage in association with the interrelated concepts of identity, memory and place, which are inevitably connected with the idea of heritage as a representation of the past, present and future.

2.2.1

Heritage as Representation of the Past, Present and Future

Often the term ‘heritage’ is used to describe a set of values or principles that relate to the past. Many people would define heritage as something ‘old’ and accept the existence of an official heritage as opposed to their own personal or collective heritage. Heritage connects us with the past, and people want to see the products of the past and feel connected to its history. Often, this connection happens at certain places that make people feel ‘at home’ with a past. David Lowenthal, who has written extensively on the distinction between heritage and history, has argued that heritage is a way of acquiring or engaging with a sense of history. He states: “It is so customary to think of the historical past in terms of narrative, sequences, dates and chronologies that we are apt to suppose these things attributes of the past itself. But they are not; we ourselves put them there” (Lowenthal 1985, 219). Hence, there are certain values involved which are inherent in making decisions about what to label ‘heritage’ and what simply as ‘old’, and these values are implicit in cultural heritage conservation and management. Consequently, heritage of the past is always linked to the present. Heritage can be seen as “an aggregation of myths, values and inheritances determined and defined by the needs of societies in the present” (McDowell 2008, 37). Graham and Howard regard the concept of heritage “as referring to the ways in which very selective past material artefacts, natural landscapes, mythologies, memories and traditions become cultural, political and economic resources for the present” (2008, 2). This concern with heritage and material items from the past has intrigued many scholars. Exploring the historical scope of it, Harvey (2001) illustrates how concepts of heritage have developed and changed according to the contemporary societal context of transforming power relationships and emerging national (and other) identities. He notes that the use of the past to construct ideas of individual and group identities has always been part of human behaviour and that throughout history people have actively managed and treasured material aspects of the past for this purpose.2 He also states that heritage processes should not be described simply as “a recent 2

The use of material culture to strengthen national ideology has been well explored, e.g. by Ashworth et al. 2007; Boswell and Evans 1999; and Carrier 2005.

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product of post-modern economic and social tendencies” (Harvey 2001, 335). Instead, “a deeper understanding of the historically contingent and embedded nature of heritage is vital [. . .] to enable us to engage with debates about the production of identity, power and authority throughout society” (ibid.). As a result, the study of heritage does not involve a direct engagement with the study of the past; instead, the contents, interpretations and representations of the heritage resource are selected according to the demands of the present, and, in turn, bestowed upon an imagined future (Ashworth et al. 2007). In recent literature on heritage a present-centred perspective of heritage is recurrent, which is reiterated in Peckham (2003), who, citing Halbwachs (1992), argues that heritage is often used as a form of collective memory, a social construct shaped by the political, economic and social concerns of the present. Viewing heritage as a modern phenomenon diminishes debates about heritage to issues of contemporary management and conservation practices, and subsequently any real engagement with debates about how heritage is involved in the production of identity, power and authority are concealed. Heritage is, therefore, less about tangible material objects or intangible forms of the past than about the meanings placed upon them, the representations which are created from them, and consequently about its various ‘uses’ (Graham et al. 2000; Graham 2002; Smith 2004).

2.2.2

Heritage and Identity

People develop their identities in cultural contexts that anchor them to social relationships. This plays an important role in helping people in the process of both identifying who they are as individuals and within relationships and collectives to which they belong (Epstein 2006; Harrison and Hughes 2010). While heritage is an object and product of identity, it also creates and maintains identities. Albert notes that the “formation of identity occurs in the cultures of the world transferring the significance of their respective material and immaterial products from the past to the present and to future generations” (2006, 30). Heritage provides meaning and identity “by conveying the idea of timeless values and unbroken lineages that underpin identity” (Graham et al. 2000, 41). Material culture as heritage can provide a physical representation of the concept of identity, fostering feelings of belonging and continuity (Lowenthal 1985, 214). In caring for and protecting heritage, people construct identities for themselves; they use it to connect to their history and at the same time develop visions for the future (Epstein 2006, 38). Heritage as cultural property becomes thus “a shared cultural tradition” (Kasten 2004, 9), essential for the identity of groups and individuals. Heritage is also seen a symbolic representation of identity, used to represent perceptions of social, cultural and historical identity at individual, community and national levels. It has, therefore, been used as a legitimizing discourse in constructing and maintaining different ‘identities’ (Dicks 2000b; Graham et al. 2000; Lowenthal 1985, 2015). Studies have primarily focused on the construction

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Uses of Heritage as Cultural Concept and Process: Identity, Memory, Place

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of national identities and the ways in which national identities have been articulated and legitimized through heritage. This focus, Smith argues, is a consequence of the ‘authorized heritage discourse’ that “constructs the idea of heritage and the official practices of heritage, both of which stress the significance of material culture in playing a vital representational role in defining national identity” (2006, 48). Consequently, the recognition or misrecognition of identity and cultural values is politically powerful, and the destruction of material and immaterial heritage has been used as a strategy to force certain ideologies and policies upon people. The destruction of intangible assets, as has happened in many countries during colonialism, for example, has had devastating effects on Indigenous people’s identities (Albert 2006). There are many ways in which heritage is used in identity politics. It can give authority to the construction of identities, particularly if the heritage “has been recognized as ‘legitimate’ through state-sanctioned heritage management and conservation practices, and/or through the research attentions of experts” (Smith 2006, 50). Ignoring diverse sub-national cultural and social experiences, this discourse, however, “draws on too narrow a sense of experience of what heritage is and what it may mean to readily incorporated sub-national identities” (ibid., 30). Heritage places and processes have, therefore, been used to legitimize and delegitimize claims to identity and resources, which often caused experiences of marginalization and disenfranchisement of Indigenous peoples in settler societies (ibid., 281; also Kasten 2004, 9; Coutts 2021). Ethnic and cultural identities, however, are defined in multicultural contexts, and the grand narratives of national identity are political constructions “in that they often involve the deployment of resources of power and prestige” (Smith 2006, 53). Drawing on a critical reading of Foucault’s theory of ‘governmentality’, Smith (2004, 2006) documents how particular archaeological conceptualizations of ‘heritage’ became embedded within heritage legislation and the state-sanctioned heritage management process. She argues that intellectual knowledge about the meaning and nature of the past and about heritage that represent an ‘authorized’ and ‘universalized’ past become incorporated into the act of governing populations and societies. Expert knowledge and values often set the agendas or provide the epistemological frameworks for debates about the meaning and nature of the past and its heritage. Their position of privilege determines that experts are treated as stewards of the past, and this ability to control and give meaning to the past and heritage “is a re-occurring and reinforcing statement of disciplinary authority and identity” (Smith 2006, 51). Often, questions of control of the past are reduced to questions over ownership issues, and Smith states that the governmentality thesis highlights “the degree to which we can conceptualize heritage as a ‘mentality’, or, in Graham’s (2002) terms, ‘a knowledge’, for regulating and governing identity claims and making sense of the present” (Smith 2006, 52). Heritage can, thus, be understood as a tool of governance, but also as a tool of opposition and subversion (Laurence 2010, 81). It is “a political and cultural tool in defining and legitimizing the identity, experiences and social/cultural standing of a range of sub-national groups as well as those of the authorizing discourse” (Smith

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2006, 52). At the same time it can be an important resource “in challenging received identity and cultural/social values” (ibid.). In governing or regulating the political and cultural legitimacy of Indigenous cultural identity, for example, policy makers have been using specific archaeological knowledge about the nature and meaning of Indigenous heritage. In that respect, the ‘things’ that archeologists labeled as ‘material culture’ and that Indigenous people treated as ‘heritage’ became resources of power in struggles over the legitimacy of claims to sovereignty, land and other economic and social resources that Indigenous people used in political negotiations with the state. They became resources of power because claims to cultural identity often framed the political legitimacy with which policy makers viewed wider claims to sovereignty and economic and social justice. Understanding the means of articulating senses of belonging has, therefore, become crucial for Indigenous people (Laurence 2010, 110). Focussing on expressions of ‘local’ construction of identity and how these identities are articulated and communicated through heritage, the case studies in this book give insight into how heritage is used by Indigenous communities.

2.2.3

Heritage and Memory

It has also been emphasized in literature that heritage is a dynamic process, subject to contestation and adaptable to the needs of present societies and cultures. Since memory is a prerequisite for identity, memories and the processes of remembering are essential in the ways in which people construct and reconstruct identity and notions of kinship and belonging, and, thus, notions of heritage. The study of memory has also been important in understanding how people acquire and shape narratives of the past for present purposes.3 In that regard, cultural memory can be understood as “the keystone for defining our future,” through which we “develop a rich and multifaceted personal identity” (Bernecker 2002, 53). If we follow Graham and Howard’s (2008) notion of heritage being the selective use of the past as a resource for the present and future, the concepts and processes of memory and remembering are inevitably connected to heritage processes and helpful to understand the processes that link identity with heritage places and events (Albert 2006; Epstein 2006; McDowell 2008; Smith 2006). Memories are socially constructed, manipulated and connected to authority (Wassmann 2011). Because memory is not knowledge of the past but rather knowledge from the past (Margalit 2002, 14), both individual and collective memories – memories that individuals share with their contemporaries (Halbwachs 1980) – are In recent decades, the study of memory has flourished, and multiple types of memory have been discussed, e.g., communicative, cultural and collective memory (A. Assmann 1999; J. Assmann 1992, 2011; Halbwachs 1980), episodic and semantic memory (Wassmann 2011). Often, memories are thought of in terms of scale, from the individual or private to the local or communal to societal memory (Meusburger et al. 2011).

3

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Uses of Heritage as Cultural Concept and Process: Identity, Memory, Place

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susceptible to forgetting, distorting, forging, manipulating and silencing. As memory is unreliable, partial, allusive, fragmentary and transient, it makes for a malleable tool for political propaganda and manipulation. The visual and the spatial especially occupy a prominent place in memory because they simplify a complex reality to a set of images and symbols which make it possible to attempt manipulation of the individual and collective consciousness at an emotional and subconscious level. Cultural memory is, therefore, “as much a result of conscious manipulation as unconscious absorption” (Kansteiner 2002, 180).4 The selection and interpretation of sources are always arbitrary, and memory knowledge and interpretations of historical events are fluid. Hegemonic power elites, however, are interested in having their narratives and representations remain unchanged and “freeze time into a crystalline image” (Remensnyder 1996, 884) in order to “derive legitimacy and motivation from the past” (Meusburger 2011, 57). They have the power to restrict counter-memories, to manipulate cultural institutions, exhibitions and media, and to control the access to archives and the distribution of monuments and ceremonies in public space. Frequently they try to elevate their subjective narratives to the level of public or ‘official’ memories that supersede local and personal memories. As a result, knowledge and memory intricately merge and interact, as Meusburger argues: The link or glue between an object (or place), its cultural meaning, and the memories it may entail is always generated by the knowledge of individuals. The emotional and cultural commitment or aversion to a place [. . .] is constructed through the knowledge about the events that are connected with it. If a person has no knowledge about the cultural meaning of a given sign or object or about the history of a certain place, then this sign, object, or place cannot spark or refresh memories in that individual (2011, 51).

This implies that people need to be able to ‘read’ and interpret heritage, and Smith (2006, 27) argues that heritage is created by interpretation. It may be interpreted differently by different people, however, creating different and often contradicting messages about the meaning and value of specific places and the pasts that are represented. These different messages do not always find consensus, but instigate dissonance, which might cause cultural and political consequences. Acknowledging the contestant nature of heritage, Ashworth and Tunbridge (1996) argue that the tensions that lie within heritage can be understood, managed and moderated through the concept of ‘dissonant heritage’. When some people inherit something, others are disinherited. Consequently, different people understand and value heritage and the past differently. In certain situations, this fact “can be enabling for those groups whose sense of the past either sits within or finds synergy with authorized views” (Smith 2006, 80). At the same time, however, it can be “disabling for those groups or communities whose sense of history and place exist outside of the dominant heritage message or discourse” (ibid.). In multicultural societies, minorities may feel

4

Assmann (1992) differentiates between potential and actual cultural memories. Potential cultural memories are those representations of the past that are stored in archives, libraries, and museums. They become actual cultural memories when they are adopted and suffused with new meaning in new social and historical contexts.

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unaddressed by dominant heritage formations and challenge the canon (Van de Port and Meyer 2018). Consequently, Smith (2006, 46) argues that the process of remembering heritage needs to be experienced. At different heritage sites, oral histories have been perceived by people as part of the heritage. Passing on oral histories and traditions can be seen as an act of heritage management, as this heritage has been preserved in specific ways. The passing on of histories and traditions to the younger generation also becomes an act of heritage itself. Heritage is, thus, not the site itself, but the act of passing on knowledge in the culturally correct or appropriate context and time. These collective memories are “drawn on, rehearsed, passed on” and often become “emotionally legitimized and naturalized through their incorporation into people’s sense of self and belonging” (ibid., 302–303). Collective memories, according to Halbwachs (1980, 1992), unfold in spatial frameworks and are comprehensible only by interrogating how the past is “preserved in our physical surroundings” (Halbwachs 1980, 140). Meusburger et al. observed that the spatiality of memory can “be explored through the cultural and social practices, activities, and enactments that symbolically reinforce or challenge the collective memories inherent in physical landscapes, practices that frequently provide the core emotional attachments linking communities to their environments” (2011, 4). In that respect, place becomes an important aspect of heritage and memory.

2.2.4

Heritage and Place

Heritage is also about a sense of ‘place’ and the idea of place is important for understanding heritage. While heritage as place can be conceived as representation of past human experiences, it also affects current experiences and perceptions of the world. However, places are more than simple location. Rodman sees places as “politicized, culturally relative historically specific, local and multiple constructions” (2003, 205) that are perceived differently by different people. A place has, therefore, “a unique reality, one in which meaning is shared with other people and places” (ibid., 208), the links of which are created though history and culture. Places are constructed by people doing things and, in this sense, are never ‘finished’ but constantly being performed and changed (Thrift 1983). Following Escobar’s (2001, 140) argument, places can be understood in a sense of geographical space as a ‘constructed reality’, or in a sense of social position and value production as ‘a category of thought’. This tension, Smith argues, is a central aspect of heritage: “While heritage is representational or symbolic in both its physicality and in the intangible act of doing or performing heritage, it is also a process and a performance where the values and meanings that are represented are negotiated and worked out” (2006, 74). This physicality of ‘heritage places’ brings out an emotional response in people, which, in turn, is shaped through the process of interpretation and/or a “sense of passion that individuals or groups may hold for particular places” (ibid., 77).

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Uses of Heritage as Cultural Concept and Process: Identity, Memory, Place

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Consequently, places are ‘produced’ by cultural practices, and identity is constructed or produced by places. Indeed, the idea of place invokes a sense of belonging (Crang 2001, 102) as it represents a set of cultural characteristics, and says something about where people come from and who they are. Place provides an anchor and geographical sense of belonging or shared experiences between people and a physical demonstration of continuity over time; it helps people to negotiate a sense of social place or community identity. This demands recognition that “being at a heritage place” and experiencing it is significant (Smith 2006, 77; emphasis in original). It helps define the meanings and ideas an individual constructs in terms of the past and the present represented at the place, and in terms of the sense of social and cultural constructs of ‘place’ or identity that an individual takes away. Smith writes: The meanings and memories of past human experiences are thus remembered through contemporary interactions with physical places and through the performances enacted within them – and with each new encounter with place, with each new experience of place, meanings and memories may subtly [. . .] be rewritten or remade (ibid.).

Shared experiences help to bind groups through shared memories and identities. Thus, heritage has become a cultural tool “that nations, societies, communities and individuals use to express, facilitate and construct a sense of identity, self and belonging in which the ‘power of place’ is invoked in its representational sense to give physical reality to these expressions and experiences” (ibid.). So heritage in the sense of place helps people to position themselves as a nation, community or individual and in defining their ‘place’ in our physical world. Place and displacement are also crucial features of post-colonial discourse that are linked to complex interactions of language, history and environment. The sense of dislocation from an historical ‘homeland’, which is created by the dissonance between language and the experience of ‘displacement’, generates a creative tension within the language. Place is the concomitant of difference, the continual reminder of the separation, and yet of the hybrid interpenetration of the colonizer and colonized, as the philosopher Zygmunt Bauman observed: It is around places that human experience tends to be formed and gleamed, that life-sharing is attempted to be managed, that life meanings are conceived, absorbed and negotiated. And it is in places that human urges and desires are gestated and incubated, that they live in the hope of fulfilment, run the risk of frustration (Bauman 2007, 81, emphasis in original).

Place and land anchor the human subject’s consciousness and identity and mediate relationships between the individual agent and collectivity (Munn 1970), and specific human acts may be memorialized, inscribed and objectified in place and landscape. Indigenous people’s links to land and place, and hence to the spiritual realm, are complex, significantly controlled by a deeply spiritual worldview (Strehlow 1970; Tonkinson 2011; see also Sect. 3.4). Besides, it is characterized by a sense of displacement from the ‘imported’ language, of a gap between the ‘experienced’ environment and descriptions the language provides as well as a sense of the immense investment of culture in the construction of place.

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Heritage has a particular power to legitimize – or not – someone’s sense of place and, thus, their social and cultural experiences and memories. For those whose collective social experiences and memories are disinherited by this view, such heritage is problematic. Ashworth and Tunbridge (1996, 268) claim that a sense of dissonance is an intrinsic quality of heritage which is created when a place takes on the status of ‘heritage’, drawing people’s attention to the multi-vocality that must underlie the meanings given to and acquired through remembering and interpreting. While they argue that dissonance can and should be actively managed to promote a “sustainable cultural heritage” for both socio-political stability and economic success, Smith (2006) argues that heritage essentially is dissonant. She posits that heritage is “a constitutive social process that on the one hand is about regulating and legitimizing, and on the other hand is about contesting and challenging a range of cultural and social identities, sense of place, collective memories, values and meanings that prevail in the present and can be passed to the future” (2006, 82). Dissonance is, thus, not a matter of case-specific conflicts, but rather a cultural process of heritage that is negotiating these conflicts. Notwithstanding a high mobility of hunter-gatherer tribes, Indigenous people have a strong attachment to place, as it holds great meaning and significance to them. Places give evidence of the occupation of the region by a certain people that date back thousands of years. Places are not only historically important, but they are associated with stories describing the laws of the land and how people should behave, as “wisdom sits in places” (Basso 1996, n.p.). They indicate where Indigenous people encountered other cultures and often are significant for contemporary uses. The grounding of identity in the land adds force to this attachment, because the ancestral creative beings are closely associated with specific sites and territories (see Sect. 2.4). In recent years, the complex relationships between Indigenous people and places have been analyzed as conditions of struggles by Indigenous peoples for ancestral homelands, land rights and retention of sacred places, and political questions of place have been brought into focus. Special attention has been paid to the ethnography of place, to how people live in, perceive and invest their home places with meaning, and how people experience, express, imagine and know the places in which they live.5 Consequently, Indigenous heritage is of continuing significance, creating and maintaining permanent connections with the people and the land. After all, heritage is a highly political concept and process, and the view of heritage inevitably reflects that of the dominant social, religious or ethnic group, as Graham et al. (2000, 25) note. It is a reflection of the political, economic and social power of certain groups and of the power of heritage itself “as a legitimizing discourse to not only validate but also reproduce certain social and cultural values, experiences and memories” (Smith 2006, 81). Thus, heritage is a political resource,

5

The notion of place is not only connect to Indigenous people. Many non-Indigenous people have felt deep connections toward their homeland, their Heimat, and Heimatliebe has developed that is deeply enrooted in people, and when forced to leave their home, people have experienced loss and trauma (Susemihl 1994).

2.3

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and a sense of politics is inherent in all constructions of heritage. That means that some individuals or communities will have greater ability to have their values and meaning represented and legitimized than others, and power both moulds and is moulded by this process.

2.3

The Concept of World Heritage: UNESCO and Canada

Heritage has been established through processes and documents of heritage management and conservation by a number of national and international organizations, thus institutionalizing the ‘authorized heritage discourse’. Organizations such as UNESCO and ICOMOS, and documents such as the World Heritage Convention and other charters and conventions play important roles, because they define to the world what heritage is, why it is significant and how it should be managed and used. Their authority derives from the strong influence these organizations have within the policy process at both national and international levels, but also, as Smith (2006) argues, from the persuasive power of the AHD, which frames the documents and influences national and international heritage conservation policies and practices. In contrast, “the AHD, and the assumptions, values and ideologies embedded within this discourse, is itself reinforced and perpetuated through the policy and technical processes that are driven or underlined” by World Heritage documents (Smith 2006, 87). There are many forms of categorization that can be applied to heritage at the national level. Carman (2002, 22) argues that heritage is created in a process of enlisting and categorizing in official registers, which entails a series of legal and moral obligations. Places on the World Heritage List must be actively conserved, have formal policies in place to determine their management and be able to receive visitors to appreciate their values. The process of listing a site as heritage involves a series of value judgements about what is important and worth conserving, and what is not, and, according to Harrison, “there is a dialectic relationship between the effect of listing something as heritage, and its perceived significance and importance to society” (2010a, 11). The moment a place receives official recognition as a heritage ‘site’, either on a national or international level, “its relationship with the landscape in which it exists and with the people who use it immediately changes” (ibid.). The site “becomes a place, object or practice ‘outside’ the everyday [. . .] set apart from the realm of daily life” and “used in the production of collective memory” (ibid.). The following section takes a closer look at UNESCO’s practices and policies concerning World Heritage, especially in terms of cultural diversity, and examines the conservation of heritage in Canada.

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Ideas, Concepts and Uses of Heritage

UNESCO’s Concept of Heritage

In 1972, UNESCO adopted the Convention Concerning the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage to identify cultural and natural heritage worldwide and to provide organized international protection of World Heritage sites. Through six conventions, fourteen recommendations and four declarations, UNESCO has played “a pioneering and historic normative role” in “proclaiming a comprehensive international legal framework for cultural heritage”, according to former DirectorGeneral of ICCROM Mounir Bouchenaki (2010, 25). UNESCO encourages States Parties to nominate sites for inclusion on the World Heritage List, establish management plans and set up reporting systems on the state of conservation of these sites. It helps States Parties to safeguard properties by providing technical assistance, training and emergency assistance, and supports public awareness-building activities for conservation, encouraging international cooperation (UNESCO 2019). Since the 1970s, the concept of the protection of the heritage of mankind underwent many changes, which can be attributed to a changing concept of heritage. In the past twenty years the concept of culture fundamental to the UNESCO World Heritage Convention has been broadened and enhanced. With adopting the Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage (2003) and the Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions (2005) new ways for recognizing cultural expressions and nominating cultural heritage have been articulated. These novel standards are the consequences of a broader understanding of cultural diversity that has been developed by the international heritage community and that initiated the proposal of numerous tangible and intangible life expressions of distinct cultures worldwide. The conventions also paved the way for new ways of communication and of counteracting the unifying tendencies concerning identities and cultures (Albert 2006, 2010). Generally, UNESCO categorizes between cultural, natural and mixed sites and cultural landscapes that function as essential concepts for people engaged in the protection, development and management of heritage. Cultural heritage is defined by UNESCO as “the legacy of physical artifacts and intangible attributes of a group or society that are inherited from past generations, maintained in the present and bestowed for the benefit of future generations” (UNESCO 2017a). Natural heritage is defined as natural features consisting of physical and biological formations, geological and physiographical formations and natural sites (UNESCO 2019, 19). If properties satisfy a part or the whole of the definitions of both cultural and natural heritage laid out in Articles 1 and 2 of the Convention, they are considered mixed cultural and natural heritage. Additionally, the World Heritage Committee has defined several specific types of cultural and natural properties and adopted guidelines to facilitate the evaluation of such properties when nominated for inscription on the World Heritage List. To date, these cover cultural landscapes, historic towns, heritage canals and heritage routes (ibid., 20, 82). As has been noted, tangible and intangible cultural heritage must be looked at concurrently, for material culture can only be understood and appreciated in the

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context of the appropriate knowledge of the natural world, with all the narratives that come with it. No physical structure or site will by itself express forms of identities, and cultural properties “only become significant for the formation of identities if they are declared to be representative for convictions of today’s society” (Albert, quoted in Bouchenaki 2010, 25). With respect to World Heritage, Bouchenaki observes that “recently, attention has focused on the conceptualization and the designation of a complementary dimension to heritage, one that is related to its intangible dimensions,” which “is the result of a closer focus on the individual or/and community systems of knowledge, both spiritual and philosophical, in which people pursue their creative activities” (2010, 25). He argues that today, the concept of cultural heritage is an open one, which can develop new objectives and put forward new meanings as it reflects living culture rather than an ossified image of the past [. . .] UNESCO has become aware that cultural and nature cannot be separated in our approach of heritage if we are to render a true account of the diversity of cultural manifestations and expressions, and in particular those in which a close link is expressed between human beings and their natural environment (ibid.).

Acknowledging the inclusiveness of heritage is a first step in approaching culturally different concepts of heritage, which needs to be followed by developing inclusive criteria for enlisting. To be included on the World Heritage List, sites must be of ‘Outstanding Universal Value’ and meet at least one out of ten selection criteria, six cultural and four natural (UNESCO 2019, 25–26).6 According to UNESCO (2019, 20), ‘Outstanding Universal Value’ (OUV) means cultural and/or natural significance which “is so exceptional as to transcend national boundaries and to be of common importance for present and future generations of all humanity.” UNESCO states further that “as such, the permanent protection of this heritage is of the highest importance to the international community as a whole” (ibid.). The selection criteria are explained in the Operational Guidelines for the Implementation of the World Heritage Convention (2019) which, besides the Convention, is the main working tool for World Heritage. Notions of OUV can be problematic, however, as it “assumes a particular (western) model of heritage in which the values of an object or place are inherent in its physical fabric”, which ultimately might “lead to conflicts in the management” (Harrison 2010b, 190). To be deemed of Outstanding Universal Value, a property must also meet the conditions of integrity and/or authenticity (UNESCO 2019, 26). Depending on the type of heritage and its cultural context, properties may be understood to meet the conditions of authenticity if their cultural values are truthfully and credibly expressed through a variety of attributes, such as their form/design, material, use/function and location/setting, among others. Integrity is a measure of the wholeness and intactness of the natural and/or cultural heritage and its attributes. Identifying and maintaining authenticity and integrity at cultural heritage sites are

6

Until 2004, World Heritage sites were selected on the basis of six cultural and four natural criteria. With the adoption of the revised Operational Guidelines (2017b), only one set of ten criteria exists.

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challenging goals, however. The concepts are difficult to define and open to different interpretations in different cultural settings, and there is sometimes confusion between the two concepts (Denyer 2011). The diversity of sites and variety of influences on them require individualized approaches to preservation. While the concepts may be seen as useful guiding concepts in striving for a systematic approach to preservation in diverse contexts, they sometimes cause tension when trying to balance the need to maintain authenticity and integrity with the needs of the people who live in or visit these sites (Alberts and Hazen 2010; Jokilehto 2006). With the Nara Document on Authenticity (1994), which was incorporated into the Operational Guidelines in 2005, UNESCO encouraged a broader definition of authenticity that is sensitive to cultural context. It emphasised that each culture has its own understanding of authenticity and has to be judged according to the context. Nevertheless, the determination of heritage value and authenticity remains largely in the hands of experts outside communities associated with World Heritage sites (Deacon and Smeets 2013, 2). Furthermore, there are a number of other requirements for selection that each property individually and each nomination collectively must demonstrate that include comparative value, appropriate boundaries, an adequate buffer zone and protection and management plans. The nominated properties should be compared to other similar properties on the World Heritage List and to sites not enlisted, aiming to explain the importance of the nominated property both in its national and international context. Besides clear boundaries, properties need to have a buffer zone, i.e., an identified area surrounding them that has complementary legal and/or customary restrictions placed on its use and development to give an added layer of protection. Finally, properties must have adequate long-term legislative, regulatory, institutional and/or traditional protection and management systems to ensure their safeguarding.

2.3.2

Creating a World Heritage Site: The Nomination Process

The process of nominating a place for inscription on the World Heritage List takes a number of years and involves three steps, i.e., listing, nomination and inscription. It also involves an assessment of the ways in which a place meets a particular set of criteria for inclusion. While UNESCO sets universal guidelines, the process varies from country to country and highlights different national priorities and selection procedures. A precondition for the nomination process is that a country has become a State Party by signing the World Heritage Convention and pledging to protect its cultural and natural heritage. As a first step, a country makes an inventory of its important natural and cultural heritage sites that are considered to be of outstanding universal value. This Tentative List provides a forecast of the properties that the country believes have strong

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potential to meet one or more criteria for inscription on the World Heritage List. In a second step, the State Party selects sites from its Tentative List and prepares a detailed nomination dossier, including all necessary data, documentation, maps and assessments. This file must demonstrate that the site is protected and managed under the State Party’s legislation and policies, that an appropriate management plan is in place, and that it has ‘Outstanding Universal Value’. In a third step, the State Party submits the nomination file to the World Heritage Centre and the nominated property is evaluated by the official Advisory Bodies, i.e., the International Council on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS) and/or the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), using the cultural and natural heritage criteria.7 Experts of one or both advisory bodies visit the site to evaluate its heritage values, its protection and management procedures and to confirm the level of support of the various stakeholders. They then write an evaluation report and make recommendations to the World Heritage Committee. Once a site has been nominated and evaluated, the World Heritage Committee makes the final decision on its inscription at its annual meeting, inscribing the site, deferring its decision and requesting further information, or rejecting the nomination. Given the complexity and duration of the process and the detailed submission, usually most nominations are approved (Donnachie 2010; UNESCO 2011). The nomination and selection process raises questions, though, especially concerning how the selection for nominations is made and by whom. According to Donnachie, the nomination of sites for the World Heritage List “largely depends on who takes the initiative” (2010, 125). Depending on national and international contexts and politics, there are large differences between countries and concerning the type of site.8 If something has universal heritage value, “it implies that the importance of an object, place or practice is such that it transcends local boundaries, and its preservation becomes a ‘common concern’ of humanity” (Harrison 2010b, 155). Harrison states: If an individual or organization has the power to suggest such importance, it privileges their interpretation of the past. There is potentially a conflict here between the preservation of cultural diversity, which would emphasize decision-making processes that are ‘internal’ to the cultures and societies concerned, and the preservation of World Heritage objects, places and practices as the ‘common concern’ of the world and therefore determined by an outside body (2010b, 155).

When it is externally determined that a site is of global importance, conflict with local practices and living cultural traditions might arise. This is especially true with

7

Sometimes the third Advisory Body, the International Centre for the Study of the Preservation and Restoration of Cultural Property (ICCROM), is involved in the process to provide the World Heritage Committee with expert advice on conservation of cultural sites and on training activities. 8 A study of World Heritage nominations in various countries by van der Aa (2005) has shown different national patterns of these processes, identifying for example a “historical core” of typical sites in Poland, emphasizing the key narrative of the “battle against water” in the Netherlands, and demonstrating a strong representation of regional identities and cultures in Spain due to the large degree of autonomy of the regions.

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Indigenous heritage in settler societies. Striving for more cultural diversity on their World Heritage List, Parks Canada initiated a public process to update its Tentative List, publishing a call for applications. In 2017, applicants were asked to demonstrate whether and how their proposed property supported a balanced and representative World Heritage List, which could help substantiate an application. Parks Canada also conducted “environmental scans of natural, cultural and Indigenous heritage” that would “identify potential gaps or under-represented areas or themes of interest to Canada” (PC 2016, 7). Following this initiative, eight new sites were added to the list, five of them representing Indigenous cultures (PC 2020).

2.3.3

The Representation of Cultural Diversity

The rise of World Heritage has been responsible for the conservation of numerous monuments and large areas of unique natural environment and landscape on earth. There is, however, much controversy concerning the diversity of cultures. Bouchenaki asserts that “this globalized approach with its international legal protection of cultural heritage is contributing positively to advancing the knowledge and appreciation of the various cultures of humanity, but it is not leading to any kind of standardization or uniformity nor any hegemony of one culture over another” (2010, 25). Smith (2006), on the other hand, argues that UNESCO has been active in promoting the ‘authorized heritage discourse’, Donnachie declares World Heritage to be “a well-established international concept administered by a formidable army of technocrats” (2010, 149), and Harrison calls the World Heritage List “a phenomenon of the later part of the twentieth century reflecting the influence of globalization, migration and transnationalism” which “spread a particular, western ‘ideal’ of heritage” (2010a, 21). In any case, the selection criteria are open to discussion. The bias toward cultural sites and artifacts is a constant dispute in heritage literature, regarding the number of criteria and of enlisted sites. Challenges emerge in the way UNESCO defines its geographic regions and emphasizes administrative rather than political units which makes evaluation difficult (Donnachie 2010, 126). The overwhelming dominance of Europe and North America, with nearly half of all the sites, suggests that industrialized countries have been highly proactive regarding World Heritage and have been “suitably rewarded by UNESCO” (ibid., 127). The prominence of cultural sites, which make up more than three-quarters of the total, also raises questions about the balance between cultural and natural heritage in the portfolio and suggests different views about what constitutes World Heritage in different parts of the globe. A study carried out by ICOMOS from 1987 to 1993 revealed that Europe, historic towns and religious monuments, Christianity, historical periods and ‘elitist’ architecture were over-represented on the World Heritage List, whereas, all living cultures, and especially ‘traditional cultures’, were under-represented (UNESCO 2021b). To promote a more balanced list, the World Heritage Committee launched the “Global Strategy for a Representative, Balanced and Credible World Heritage List”

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in 1994. Aiming to ensure that the List reflects the world’s cultural and natural diversity of outstanding universal value, the Committee intended to broaden the definition of World Heritage to better reflect the full spectrum of the world’s cultural and natural treasures and to provide a comprehensive framework and operational methodology for implementing the Convention, striving “to recognize and protect sites that are outstanding demonstrations of human coexistence with the land as well as human interactions, cultural coexistence, spirituality and creative expression” (UNESCO 2021b). Countries are, therefore, encouraged to prepare nominations of properties from categories and regions currently underrepresented on the World Heritage List. Until today the strategy has only been partially successful, though, and there are still restrictions, as the case study on Tr’ondëk-Klondike demonstrates. In 2004, the World Heritage Committee reviewed recent World Heritage Lists and Tentative Lists, analyzing them on regional, chronological, geographical and thematic bases to evaluate the progress of the Global Strategy. The studies noted structural and qualitative problems, relating to the nomination process and to managing and protecting cultural properties, as well as to the way properties are identified, assessed and evaluated. Since 1994, 39 new countries have ratified the Convention, the number of States Parties who have submitted Tentative Lists has grown from 33 to 132, and new categories for World Heritage sites have been promoted. To further enhance underrepresented categories and improve geographical coverage, the World Heritage Committee has also limited the number of nominations that a State Party can present and the number of nominations it will review during its session (UNESCO 2021b). These measures suggest greater diversity in heritage, but “not necessarily a significant move away from essentially elite culture dominated be the European mind set – or at least that of the developed world,” as Donnachie (2010, 129) notes. The slow process of change is not helped by the bureaucracy World Heritage represents as “even the international heritage professionals recognise” (ibid.). The UNESCO Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity recognizes cultural heritage as “the wellspring of creativity”, which is why “heritage in all its forms must be preserved, enhanced and handed on to future generations as a record of human experience and aspiration, so as to foster creativity in all its diversity and to inspire genuine dialogue among cultures” (UNESCO 2001). The World Heritage List, however, is still dominated by the European ‘canon’ of primarily cultural sites. In North America, natural World Heritage sites are well represented and preserved, while cultural sites are less prominent than in Europe. One reason for that is that the United States and Canada have a long history of natural preservation and conservation,9 and justifications for national parks are highly nationalistic as there is

9

Environmental preservation and conservation are two of the major ideas and methods of land management and use. While preservation refers to the action of maintaining lands and their natural resources in their pristine form and refraining from using them because of the intrinsic value of land, conservation refers to the act of consciously, efficiently and sustainably using land and its natural resources (Freitag 2011).

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a strong emphasis on preserving national spirit and identity (Hunter 2006).10 In these ‘wild’ places, Parks Canada and the U.S. National Park Service work to carry forward naturalist John Muir’s dream to preserve “the beauty, grandeur, and all-embracing usefulness of our wild mountain forest reservations and parks, with a view to inciting the people to come and enjoy them, and get them into their hearts” (1901, n.p.). This narrative, however, leaves out Indigenous peoples, many of them displaced from lands that were designated as national parks (Kantor 2007). As Donnachie points out, settler colonies like the United States and Canada needed to emphasize “the distance between natural and cultural heritage to promote the idea of ‘wilderness’ – an empty, blank, apparently unoccupied country which apart from the politics would justify the historical and oral position of occupation” (2010, 130). These lands are still part of tribal heritage, the discussion of which, however, would go beyond the scope of this book.11

2.3.4

Heritage in Canada: National, Regional, Local

As has been noted, heritage plays an important role in the production of state ideologies. Most countries have a ‘national’ heritage list of physical places, objects and practices which are thought to represent the history, values and spirits of the nations. Moreover, governments usually have multi-layered systems of heritage which recognize a hierarchy of heritage sites, objects and practices of national, regional and local significance. These lists “might be thought of as offshoots of the concept of ‘the canon’,” which Harrison (2010a, 14) terms a rather “slippery concept” as “it is not defined specifically, but through a process of positioning.” The keeping of lists, though, always raises questions concerning the people who determine what is on the lists, the values that trigger the decisions that specify what should be represented, assessing which are the most important heritage sites and objects and the inclusion and exclusion of certain groups of society. Mitchell (2005) argues that the idea of canon is linked closely with that of nation and that “canons might be understood to represent ideological tools that circulate the values on which particular visions of nationhood are established” (Harrison 2010a, 15). Lists of

10 Claiming that the U.S. Park system reflects the ‘spirit of the nation’, Hunter (2006, n.p.) calls the U.S. National Park System a ‘teacher’, as the parks “capture the splendor and the grandeur of the United States, its natural and historical treasures, the national pride, shame and sorrows”; through them “the United States preserves its natural, cultural and historic heritage and offers to the world a window on the American experience.” 11 Discussing tribal concepts of wildlands and models for collaboration concerning the management of wildlands, Stumpff (2000, 99) argues that there are several key components for understanding the role of Indigenous people in sustaining wildlands. A deep connection to wildlands is embedded in the philosophy Indigenous people, as, for many, wildlands represent the origin of life and its ecology, knowledge and governance. On the subject of sacred natural sites and conserving nature and culture, see also Verschuuren et al. 2010.

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things that are meant to represent the ‘greatest expressions of culture’ support narratives about specific “values that are seen to be the most worthy in the preservation of a particular form of state society” (ibid.). They are controlled by putting the power to establish the ‘canon’ into the hands of ‘experts’ who are sanctioned by the state. However, these lists are rather complex, as they are determined by a wide range of considerations, among them ideological and economic concerns. In Canada, as in other countries worldwide, cultural heritage such as national historic sites and other tangible and intangible heritage elements are “of profound importance to Canada,” because, according to Parks Canada, “they bear witness to this nation’s defining moments and illustrate its human creativity and cultural traditions” (PC 2019, n.p.). Heritage sites tell unique stories, each “part of the greater story of Canada, contributing a sense of time, identity, and place to our understanding of Canada as a whole” (ibid.). Cultural heritage and its institutions and organizations enable people to discover the country’s diverse heritage and help people know who they are and what brings them together. Parks Canada states: Each national historic site is a distinct and vibrant symbol of Canadian identity. It is also a centre of learning, a wealth of information, a living history adventure, an experience of what Canada used to be and what it is today. [. . .] Moving, memorable opportunities such as these, and many more, give visitors a feel for where Canada has come from, where it is today, where it is going in the future (PC 2019, n.p.).

Canada’s commitment to the conservation of its cultural heritage has become increasingly significant throughout the past decades. Conservation principles have been developed and a number of agencies and institutions established. The system of sites has evolved with the nation’s changing view of itself throughout the generations, and today there is a greater interest in social history reflecting the achievements and experiences of everyday Canadians. As of today, more than 1500 places, persons and events have been commemorated by the Government of Canada for their national historic significance, and more than 990 have been designated National Historic Sites of Canada (NHSC).12 Until the early twentieth century, concerted heritage conservation activities were relatively rare in Canada.13 In the 1920s and 1930s, scholars and the public started to become more interested in heritage buildings. Since its establishment in 1933, the Department of Canadian Heritage of the Government of Canada administers a number of heritage policies and programs. In 1953, the government passed the Historic Sites and Monuments Act to permit designation of architecturally significant buildings as national historic sites, and major heritage reconstructions became 12

The largest inventory list in Canada is the Canadian Inventory of Historic Buildings, which, under Parks Canada’s administration, lists more than 200,000 historic buildings across the country (Cameron 1986). Another register is the Canadian Register of Historic Places, a directory of more than 13,000 historic places that have been recognized for their heritage value by a federal, provincial, territorial and/or municipal authority. 13 It took long-time initiatives such as the creation of the Royal Society of Canada’s Committee for the Preservation of Scenic and Historic Places in Canada (founded in 1900) and the Historic Sites and Monuments Board of Canada (founded in 1919) to give structure and voice to heritage activism.

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popular, instigating a new era in heritage conservation. During the 1960s and 1970s, many outdoor museums were created, where visitors walked among restored buildings and modern replicas while costumed interpreters demonstrated the tasks of everyday life in former days.14 Large-scale heritage restoration and reconstruction projects like Dawson City were based on extensive research by historians, archaeologists and architects who tried to portray Canada’s past. To guide these changes, conservation principles were developed and a number of agencies established, among them the Heritage Canada Foundation (1973) and the International Council on Monuments and Sites Canada (1975). By signing the World Heritage Convention in 1976, the federal government committed itself to protecting World Heritage sites. Since then, the scope of heritage conservation has widened considerably, and alternative notions of heritage, such as the West Coast Native concept that the skill to create a totem pole may be a more important heritage to safeguard than the physical artifact itself, are starting to challenge long-accepted ideas about heritage conservation (Fulton 2006). The lead agency for implementing the World Heritage Convention has been Parks Canada.15 Established in 1911, it is responsible for protecting and operating 42 National Parks, more than 170 National Historic Sites and three National Marine Conservation Areas. Its responsibilities include facilitating Canada’s participation in the business of the Convention, preparing and maintaining Canada’s Tentative List, providing general guidance to Canadian World Heritage site management authorities regarding the application of the Convention to their properties, providing guidance to organizations responsible for preparing nomination dossiers, and coordinating communication between Canada and the World Heritage Centre (PC 2016). It also manages the National Historic Sites program, “making special efforts to encourage participation and increase the representation of Aboriginal, women and ethnocultural communities’ history” (PC 2019) and supports the Historic Sites and Monuments Board of Canada (HSMBC), which advises the Minister of Canadian Heritage. In general, through formal conventions and statutes, heritage has become increasingly entangled in global politics and linked to expressions of nationalism by various nation states. The concept of universal heritage value is also problematic as it takes for granted that the management of World Heritage for the wants of the international community should necessarily overrule and ignore local interests. Harrison states: While UNESCO has put much energy into addressing issues of diversity and conflicts between local and global interests, there remains a fundamental problem with the concept of World Heritage: [. . .] it overwrites the local cultural context of heritage with a language and method of management focused on the idea of international ownership, access and values (2010b, 191).

14 While some places like Upper Canada Village and Kings Landing were created by moving authentic buildings to new locations, others like the Fort Macleod Museum and Sainte-Marie among the Hurons were reconstructed. 15 For information and a history of Parks Canada and Canadian Historic Sites see, among others, Campbell 2011, 2017; Taylor 1990.

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Landscape as Heritage

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Indigenous people have used “the global networks of heritage to highlight their plight for the attention of much larger audiences” (ibid.). Using an authorized language of heritage, they have successfully made claims for repatriation and ownership of cultural materials. In Canada, Indigenous people have been active in heritage repatriation, conservation and management for some time. On reserve lands, they manage their own heritage, and a few Nations such as the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have established a heritage department within their tribal government. Their ideas of heritage, however, have always been connected to land and landscape.

2.4

Landscape as Heritage

As human and natural history are intertwined, we cannot understand one without the other. Many scholars claim that every dimension or aspect of nature is influenced by human agency and every aspect of culture is affected by nature (Lowenthal 2005). On any land, evidence of historical activities may be detected in the vegetation or in landscape modifications as well as in archaeological evidence, historical documents or people’s stories. The ‘cultural landscape’ concept emphasises this connection between people, places and heritage and underlines the landscape-scale of history. It recognises the present landscape as the product of long-term and complex relationships between people and environment. Cultural landscapes are places that “represent or reflect the patterns of settlement or use of the landscape over a long time, as well as the evolution of cultural values, norms and attitudes toward the land” (Brown 2010, 4), including elements such as nature and people, the past and the present, and places and values (Brown 2010; Guilfoyle 2006; Phillips 2002). Many World Heritage sites can be seen as “amalgams of cultural and natural resources” (Pinto 2016, 75). They are “places where human history was and still is dependent on natural resources and where those natural resources have been modified by generations of inhabitants” (ibid.). As such they can be seen as ‘cultural landscapes’. UNESCO’s approaches of nominating and safeguarding heritage have been considerably elaborated by the category of ‘cultural landscape’, which, in turn, has influenced local concepts of conservation and use of heritage. For Indigenous people, however, the category of ‘cultural landscape’ can be controversial. While it has opened new possibilities for inclusive safeguarding appreciating an Indigenous approach to heritage, it has also brought new challenges concerning the communication between stakeholders and the development and use of heritage sites, as the case studies demonstrate. A discussion of ideas of ‘landscape’ and ‘cultural landscape’, particularly connected to identity and ideology, helps to understand these political and cultural conflicts.

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Ideas, Concepts and Uses of Heritage

Cultural Landscapes as World Heritage Category

In 1992 the World Heritage Convention became the first international legal instrument to recognize and protect cultural landscapes, and UNESCO adopted guidelines concerning their inclusion in the World Heritage List. This landmark decision was based on “years of intensive debates in the World Heritage Committee on how to protect sites where interactions between people and the natural environment are the key focus” (Rössler 2006b, 144).16 Cultural landscapes are inscribed on the basis of the cultural heritage criteria, but in a number of cases the properties are also recognized for their outstanding natural values. To date, 114 properties17 on the World Heritage List have been included as cultural landscapes (UNESCO 2021a). Cultural landscapes18 are defined by UNESCO as ‘cultural properties’ that represent the combined works of nature and humankind, expressing a long and intimate relationship between peoples and their natural environment. They are illustrative of the evolution of human society and settlement over time, under the influence of the physical constraints and opportunities presented by their natural environment and of successive social, economic and cultural forces (UNESCO 2017b, 19). They “often reflect specific techniques of sustainable land-use” and “a specific spiritual relation to nature” and their protection can “contribute to modern techniques of sustainable land-use and can maintain or enhance natural values in the landscape” (ibid., 81). They are selected because of their OUV and their representativity in terms of a clearly defined geo-cultural region and for their capacity to illustrate the essential and distinct cultural elements of such a region. UNESCO differentiates between three main categories, i.e., landscape designed and created intentionally by man, organically evolved landscape and associative cultural landscape. Regarding the inscription of cultural landscapes on the World Heritage List, the Operational Guidelines mention that with respect to protection and management it is “important that due attention be paid to the full range of values represented in the landscape, both cultural and natural,” and “the nominations should be prepared in collaboration with and the full approval of local communities” (ibid., 82). The adoption of ‘cultural landscapes’ as a category for protection in the Convention started a re-evaluation of the notions of natural and cultural heritage. Mechtild Rössler, who has written extensively on the UNESCO concept of cultural landscape 16

The text in the Operational Guidelines was prepared by an expert group on cultural landscapes in 1992 and approved for inclusion in the Operational Guidelines by the World Heritage Committee in the same year. 17 The Dresden Elbe Valley, inscribed in 2004, is still mentioned on the World Heritage List of cultural landscapes, although it has been crossed out as the property was delisted in 2009 (UNESCO 2021a). 18 The term ‘cultural landscape’ has been a fundamental concept in geography for some time. It was first defined by the German geographer Friedrich Ratzel in the 1890s and, in the 1920s, introduced to the English-speaking world by the American geographer Carl O. Sauer. Since the 1960s, the concept has been widely used in fields such as anthropology, environmental management and heritage studies (Jones 2003; Wu 2010).

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(2006a, b, 2008, 2010), states that cultural landscapes “are a symbol of the growing recognition of the intrinsic links between communities and their past heritage, humankind and its natural environment” (Rössler 2006a, 142). In her opinion the impact of their inclusion for the implementation of the World Heritage Convention cannot be underestimated. The category of the associative cultural landscape has been crucial for the recognition of intangible values and for the heritage of local and Indigenous communities because “for the first time their cultural heritage received worldwide recognition” (ibid., 145). Rössler states: The fundamental difference was the acceptance of communities and their relation to their environment, even if such landscapes were linked to powerful religious, artistic or cultural associations of the natural element rather than material cultural evidence. They are places with associative cultural values, or sacred sites, which may be physical entities or mental images embedded in a people’s spirituality, cultural tradition, and practice (ibid.).

Furthermore, unique land-use systems and the continuous work of people over centuries “to adapt the natural environment were recognized for enhancing biological diversity” (ibid.). The inscription of sites as ‘cultural landscapes’ on the World Heritage List had great influence on the interpretation, presentation and management of the properties, as it “led to awareness raising among the local communities, to new pride in their own heritage, to rehabilitation and revival of traditions” (ibid., 146). It also “made people aware that sites are not isolated islands, but that they have to be seen in the ecological system and with the cultural linkages in time and space beyond single monuments and strict nature reserves” (ibid.). In some cases, threats have to be faced with unregulated tourism or development of resources, as with logging on Haida Gwaii and mining in the Klondike. With the inclusion of the cultural landscapes categories, far-reaching changes were made to the management, legal provisions and other paragraphs of the Operational Guidelines, as “for the first time, the involvement of local people in the nomination process was considered necessary” (ibid., 148). However, a number of challenges in conservation approaches appeared, as new institutional networks and partnerships had to be created and dialogue among key stakeholders established (Mitchell et al. 2009; Rössler 2006a). Substantial in the application of the new guidelines and reason for debate are the ideas of ‘landscape’ and ‘cultural landscape’ as well as Indigenous approaches to this complex issue.

2.4.2

Ideas of Landscape

Landscapes have been researched by scholars from many fields, and there are many contradictory understandings of what landscape is, how it functions and what methods should be used to study it.19 Raymond Williams argues that “the very 19 For definitions and discussion of concepts and categories of landscape see, for example, Forman and Godron 1986; Hoskins 1955; Jackson 1984; Sauer 1925; Wylie 2007.

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idea of landscape implies separation and observation” (1973, 120). Often, people identify ‘landscape’ with ‘nature’, which is viewed as ‘good’ and ‘innocent’ and “natural-looking landscapes take on the appearance of goodness” (Herrington 2009, 7). Landscapes not only represent nature, though, but always demonstrate how people relate to it. Generally, Western culture has tried to understand human relationship with nature in different ways. Landscape historian J.B. Jackson wrote: “A landscape is not a natural feature of the environment but a synthetic space, a man-made system of spaces superimposed on the face of the land, functioning and evolving not according to natural laws but to serve a community” (1984, 8). Many landscapes “contain natural elements, and are subject to natural processes that obscure human intervention” (Herrington 2009, 5), and “carry messages with contemporary relevance” (ibid., 6). Consequently, when studying landscape, dimensions of being human such as time and memory (the past), imagination (the present) and anticipation (the future) need to be considered (Herrington 2009, 9). Landscapes are also places of symbolic importance. They are not only shaped by cultural practices, but are symbolic of cultural and social beliefs (Crang 2001). They have always been representative of certain ideas, values and lifestyles. They also have come to represent “a process of reflections” (Herrington 2009, ix) and can be seen as a medium of cultural memories (Wassmann 2011). The ‘landscape idea’ can, thus, be understood as an ideal and ideology. Graham et al. argue that “landscape interconnects with a series of interacting and constantly mutating aspects of identity” (2000, 32), including “nationalism, gender, sexuality, ‘race’, class, and colonialism/ post-colonialism” (ibid.). Herrington states: “Historic landscapes for tourism are not simply commercial enterprises, but ideological ones that reshape history for our own purposes. They reconstruct our origins in a way that both defines and validates our present culture” (2009, 37). While landscapes represent the past, they also express modern development, especially if we consider present tourism and resource management. The landscape idea enables us “to recast our origins” (ibid., 36). In that respect, MacCannell (1992, 131) posits that post-modern people are proverbial tourists, seeking to absorb the histories of other times and/or cultures as part of who they are. Landscapes cannot therefore represent the past without validating the present. Herrington argues that conventional representations of nature in the way of “images of landscape that pictorialize nature” (2009, 47–48) make people feel better. In a post-colonial North American context, they “can have great significance for people of non-Indigenous ancestry,” as it “relieves them of technological and pioneer guilt by recalling the pre-European settlement landscape of North America” (ibid.). The term ‘cultural landscape’ has also become of central concern and much debate in heritage studies. Landscape always implies culture and the shaping by culture. Sauer (1925) argued that cultural landscape is fashioned from a natural landscape by a cultural group; culture is the agent, the natural is the medium, the cultural landscape is the result. The term has been used to include all landscapes that are influenced by human activities and human values (Jones 2003). As a result, some have questioned the usefulness of the term based on the argument that landscapes untouched by humans no longer exist, so all landscapes are ‘cultural landscapes’

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(Phillips 1998) that coevolved with human societies. That means the natural landscape has been transformed by human actions, and the landscape qualities have shaped people’s way of life. Not only are landscapes physically shaped or altered by cultural practices, but “they are also ‘cultural’ in the sense that the way they are conceived and understood dictates how they are managed and used” (Smith 2006, 78). Indeed, our communal legacies and inheritances intermingle; no aspect of nature is unimpacted by human agency (Lowenthal 2005). Landscapes are also ‘cultural’ “in that they are symbolic of the social and political ideologies that people use to understand and conceptualize them, which are in turn embodied within the landscape through human action” (Smith 2006, 78–79). Accordingly, ‘cultural landscapes’ help us understand the links between the natural and human history of a place and are important for the meanings, environmental connection and socio-political ideologies associated with them (Jensen et al. 2011, 2). Another issue besides the nature/culture divide over the meaning of landscape is the issue of ‘multi-vocality’ of landscape and place. If place is both an expression of, and has a consequence for, human experience and inter-relations then, as Massey (1994) notes, plurality of meaning must be accepted in any definition of place. Wu writes in this context: A landscape is not merely a geographic space as it has contents, not merely a container as it shapes and is shaped by what it contains, and not merely a human-modified environment as it is a holistic system in which nature and culture co-evolve. The division between culture and nature or between people and place is often based on human perception rather than reality. While such division is useful and even necessary in some cases, any artificial separation of constituents without a holistic unifying framework may obstruct a genuine understanding of complex adaptive systems such as landscapes (2010, 1149–1150).

The complex system of landscape or place always represents many voices. Smith argues that place as “a collage of intersecting and overlapping meanings is not only a space where meaningful experiences occur, but is also where meanings are contested and negotiated” (2006, 79). Hence, landscape carries constructed meanings that need to be read and understood. Anne Whiston Spirn, who explored how landscapes speak to people, argues that the language of landscape exists with its own syntax, grammar and metaphors. She claims that landscape “has all the features of language” (1998, 15). It not only “contains the equivalent of words and parts of speech,” but is “pragmatic, poetic, rhetorical, polemic,” and by failing to learn to read and speak this language of landscape which is “our native language” (ibid.), we imperil ourselves. Indeed, metaphors and models grounded in landscape help guide how humans think and act. Landscapes are communicators of information, and our behaviors in landscapes are comprised of information processing tasks, such as understanding and exploring (Herrington 2009, 112). Moreover, people have always used “remnants of their landscape as mnemonic devices” to fortify identity (ibid., 9), which is particularly the case for Indigenous people. The cultural landscape makes human heritage visible and gives a voice to different groups with connections to these places, past and present.

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2.4.3

Ideas, Concepts and Uses of Heritage

The Indigenous Lens of Landscape: Living and Reading the Land

Indigenous peoples usually view landscape different from the Western perspective of land and landscape. They perceive land in ways connected to their experience and define their relationship as belonging to the land; they see themselves as one element of a fully integrated environment, as part of the ecosystem, not only as observers or managers (Johnson 1997, 3). In their eyes, humans coexist with fauna and flora, with equal rights to life, and landscapes are alive with spirit and different forms of intelligence, as Dene Elder George Blondin states: “We are people of the land; we see ourselves as no different than the trees, the caribou, and the raven, except we are more complicated” (1997, 18). This belief reflects commitment to respect for all living things. For Indigenous people, land is deeply intertwined with identity as it represents a tightly woven net of relationships that is the essence of the people’s culture and identity. The idea of Indigenous cultural landscape also reveals the many human communities that overlap with various environments, which provides room for different kinds of knowledge and meaning. For Indigenous people, places and landscapes play a mnemonic role. Land can be understood as a palimpsest, having continually been written over by human physical and cultural interactions, and in its many layers of poly-vocal history we can read the traces of time in space and heritage (Crang 2001; Lutz 2007, 12).20 Cruikshank states in that regard: “Oral tradition is mapped on the landscape [. . .] events are anchored to place and people use locations in space to speak about events in time” (1994, 409), and Calloway writes: On and in the ground lie glimpses of different stories and ancient histories. Some are long forgotten and incompletely understood. Others can be read out of the land by people who see not the ‘empty wilderness’ that daunted Europeans but a world alive with the spirit of ancestors, etched with the experience of generations, and holding ‘memories of the past with which they coexist.’ For Native peoples, the landscape, with its markers and stories, could be read like an historical text, or like a winter count, the calendar of events by which the Lakotas recorded their stories (2003, 3–4).

Landscapes and places provide “a background, setting, gravitas and, most importantly, a sense of occasion for those both passing on and receiving cultural meaning, knowledge and memories” (Smith 2006, 46). Usually, material evidence and the spiritual values of place are equally important. The cosmological and mythological associations of places and “the continuing cultural relationship to the spirits and power of these places” characterize many landscapes important to Indigenous people

20

Many Indigenous and non-Indigenous scholars have discussed the importance of place and mnemonic features of landscape for Indigenous people, among them Armstrong (2007), Basso (1996), Calloway (2003), Carmichael et al. (1994), Eigenbrod (2005), Lutz (2007), and Nelson (1993). Indigenous authors in Canada, among them George Blondin (1997) and Basil Johnston (2003), also have addressed their environments to identify and articulate the qualities, meanings and places of the landscapes in which their cultures have lived for centuries.

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(Buggey 1999, 12). Indigenous identity has, thus, been maintained in a landscapebased cosmology, especially since the European colonists and the Indigenous people created divergent landscapes out of the same pieces of geography. Wassmann thinks that every culture develops some “connective structure” that “links people together, promoting a space of shared experiences, expectations, and practices that leads to trust and orientation through its binding force” (2011, 356), and which “connects past and present by incorporating images and stories from other times into the present” (ibid.). He states that this “aspect of culture resides in mythological and historical narratives” and “both aspects – the normative (directive) and the narrative – ground belonging and identity” (ibid.). Respect for and knowledge of their ecosystem does not mean, however, that the landscapes they lived in were untouched or in their ‘natural’ state. When Europeans discovered America, many of its inhabitants had already dramatically shaped the land. Indigenous people have been active landscape architects, altering the landscape for different purposes. They have always managed the landscape to sustain their food supplies, as their livelihoods depended on landscape. The Plains people, for example, used prescribed burning to control Plains vegetation to attract the buffalo (Brink 2008; Courtwright 2011; Dormaar and Barsh 2000; Williams 2003) and the Haida resettled salmon in new streams to influence the salmon runs. Knowledge of the land has also had strong influences on their social and economic life, as everything was interconnected. Traditional lifeways integrated economic, spiritual and social aspects of life in use areas over centuries. For the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, for example, life centred on the Yukon River; its resources sustained them and their spiritual sites bordered this source of life. Daily interaction with the land and repeating processes and activities demanded intimate knowledge and understanding of the physical environment such as weather, ecosystem, plants and animals. The seasonal round of yearly activities, its associated places and patterns of movement shaped traditional lifeways, and success in hunting, fishing, trapping and gathering required observation of the land and its forces as well as integrating knowledge and understanding of the natural environment and its processes (Buggey 1999). While a site is intrinsically important to people connected to it, “it is the use of these sites that made them heritage, not the mere fact of their existence” (ibid.). Smith shows that being within a cultural landscape is to experience a sense of heritage, as it allows people to “not only affirm a sense of their historical and cultural identities, but also to network, meet and renew old friendships and pass on news” (2006, 47). These socializing activities foster a sense of community in a place that symbolizes certain cultural values and meanings. Haida women and men working as watchmen at Gwaii Haanas, for example, are affirming a sense of their cultural identity at the sites. They undertake a range of ‘heritage acts’ or actions such as singing, dancing and storytelling that in themselves convey and carry meaning, but take on particular force because of the context in which they occurred. It has been both culturally and politically important to reinforce the value of these activities by locating them in a particular place. These acts and activities not only help keep cultural heritage and knowledge alive by passing on meanings and values to younger people, but also function in identity forming and community development.

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Ideas, Concepts and Uses of Heritage

Heritage and Museums

Heritage and museums have always been interconnected, and museums are key institutions for collecting heritage objects. Many heritage sites, such as the three case studies discussed in this book, are run as museums or feature museums or interpretive centres that represent the site and interpret the material and immaterial heritage for visitors. Museums are important places of education; they provide opportunity for the public to see and learn about people, places, things and ideas that might not have been accessible otherwise. But Indigenous people do not always feel this way about mainstream museum experiences. This is because a great many of the Indigenous treasures in museum collections were acquired during colonial times in the history of Indigenous peoples and the nation state of Canada (Collison et al. 2019, 6). The idea and concept of ‘museum’, thus, often carries notions of nationalism, colonialism and exoticising the ‘other’ and is strongly connected with the ‘authorized heritage discourse’. These highly complex issues of exhibiting and representing cultures have been discussed quite extensively in the field of museum studies (Bennett 1995; Karp and Lavine 1991; Macdonald 2011; Mason et al. 2018). Nevertheless, a short excursion into the topic of museums and heritage seems appropriate at this point. To understand the current controversies and critical tensions over the nature of social history museums and exhibitions, it is worthwhile to briefly outline the development of museums and museology, the representation of Indigenous cultures and the notion and process of repatriation in Canada.

2.5.1

The Roles and Functions of Museums: From Traditional to New Museology

The development of museums – institutions that collect, preserve and interpret the material evidence of human existence and activity as well as the natural world – has a long history.21 The idea of the double concept of preservation and interpretation can be ascribed to the human inclination to collect and interpret (Bennett 1995). Having its origin in the large collections of the sixteenth century, the emergence of the public museum can be allocated to progress and scientific rationality during the modern era, when a spirit of systems and rational inquiry began to emerge in Europe and collections of natural and artificial objects evolved to preserve the acquired knowledge (Lewis 2012; Walsh 1992). During the eighteenth century, ideas of Enlightenment, explorations, trade and industrialization, a taste for the exotic and an encyclopaedic spirit led to the opening of outstanding museums. Due to European colonial influence, this phenomenon spread to other parts of the world, and museums were founded by regional and national authorities. During the nineteenth century, a 21 For an overview of the history and development of museums see, among others, Bennett 1995; Kavanagh 1996; Lewis 2023, 2012; Pearce 1992; Smith 2006; and Walsh 1992.

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developing national consciousness contributed to the establishment of museums and the founding of national museums (Lewis 2023). Also, social reforms to overcome problems resulting from industrialization contributed to the development of municipal museums that were seen as means of providing education, entertainment and experience to the increasingly urbanized population (Smith 2006; Weil 2002). During the twentieth century, a number of social forces and economic and political changes influenced the development of museums. Two world wars and their consequences as well as periods of economic recession, among other factors, caused a period of major reassessment. Governments and other authorities reviewed the role of museums in a changing society. New museums were established to promote the history of the homeland, encouraging nationalistic tendencies and national pride, and to communicate political propaganda. The diversity of providers such as governments, universities, societies, companies and individuals, however, did not encourage cohesive policymaking at a national level (Lewis 2023). In North America, museum development was influenced by a desire to establish a coherent past. Museums also became an educational facility, a source of leisure activity and a medium of communication. With a growing industrialization, as repositories of the ‘real thing’, museums “could inspire and invoke a sense of wonder, reality, stability, and even nostalgia” (Lewis 2023, n.p.). A new approach in museum work emerged in which curators became members of a team comprising scientists, designers, educators and marketing managers. Besides, museums attracted an increasing number of visitors, which was noted in the tourist industry. Traditionally, museums have been understood as collection-focused, buildingbased institutions, giving the public the perception that the museum is a ‘cultural authority’, advocating and communicating ‘truth’ (McCall and Gray 2014, 3; Harrison 1993). Its purposes were perceived as concrete and tangible, paralleling the essence of “the material evidence” (Weil 2002, 46). The major role of museums was “to ‘civilize’ and ‘discipline’ the mass of the population “to fit their position within society” (McCall and Gray 2014, 3). For this it was deemed necessary to differentiate between high and elitist forms of culture, which were worthy of preservation, and others that were not. Traditional museology22 was “functionally based around collections and held curatorship as being central to the museum enterprise,” while the interests of narrow social groups dominated how museums operated (ibid.). Starting in the 1970s, scholars claimed that museums were isolated from the modern world, elitist, obsolete and a waste of public money, and the role of museums was contested (Hudson 1977, 15). Changes in value, meaning, control, interpretation, authority and authenticity within museums were called for as well as a redistribution of powers. The relationship between museums and communities needed to be redefined, and diverse groups were to be represented. Multiple discourses and cultural empowerment, dialogue and emotion became new aspects of museology, and museums were expected to develop policies and practices that met

22 The term ‘museology’ encompasses the entirety of theoretical and critical thinking concerning the museums.

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multiple ends. On a national level, this meant that countries developed national strategies to connect people, places and collections and create public value while “inspiring and delighting the public,” have a community focus, promote a just society, contribute to lifelong learning and function as “means for overcoming social disadvantage through their role as part of a national strategy for social inclusion” (McCall and Gray 2014, 7). ‘New museology’ developed as a specific ideology and discourse around the social and political roles of museums, encouraging new communication and styles of expression in contrast to classic, collections-centred museum models, and affected expectations concerning the purpose of museums.23 It challenged the position of museums in conservation, the epistemological status of artifacts on display, the nature, purpose and role of museum scholarship and brought about changes in value, meaning, control, interpretation, authority, authenticity and distribution of power. New museology also demanded active roles for the public both as visitors and controllers of the curatorial functions (McCall and Gray 2014, 3; Kreps 2009) and a “more open, inclusive, representative and creative” management of heritage (Harrison 2013, 225). Besides, emerging discourses started linking museums and heritage to terminologies such as ‘cultural empowerment’, ‘social re-definition’ and ‘dialogue’ (McCall and Gray 2014, 4). During these developments, regional and local authorities confronted their own expectations, demands and multiple pressures in terms of management and functions of museums. While for many centuries the museum had been the home of such fields as archaeology, ethnology, biology and geology, whose research produces and requires collections, this has changed. According to heritage scholar and museum professional Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, during the nineteenth and early twentieth century there was “a close fit between ethnology as a knowledge formation, collections, and museums” (2004, 73). When after World War II these tasks moved into the universities, collections were left behind and museums “became custodians of the collections of outmoded scientific disciplines” (ibid.). In reinventing themselves, museums have become agents of ‘heritage’ and an increasing awareness of the environment and the need to preserve it emerged. Many sites of scientific significance have been preserved and interpreted, often as national or provincial parks, and historic sites and buildings have been restored, the latter often being used as museums. New types of museums such as open-air museums appeared, attempting to preserve and display structures and customs of the more recent past. As museums contended with changing visitor needs in the early twenty-first century, they also attempted to move away from what had come to be seen as outdated Eurocentric displays and the exclusionary practices of the past, and sought alternate ways of representing ‘other’ cultures and societies.

For information on ‘new museology’ see, for example, Mairesse and Desvallées 2010, McCall and Gray 2014, and Vergo 1989.

23

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2.5.2

65

Exhibiting Cultures and Representing ‘Otherness’

The concept of ‘otherness’ has been tackled by many scholars, speaking to the historical, cultural and discursive processes through which ‘the other’ is constructed in Western contexts. Defining ‘otherness’ is central to sociological analyses of how majority and minority identities are constructed, and ‘the other’ is set up against the hegemonic ‘universal human being’ – that is usually white, middle class, heterosexual and able-bodied. Simone de Beauvoir argues that “the category of the Other is as primordial as consciousness itself” (1972, xi). Because ‘otherness’ is “a fundamental category of human thought,” she argues, “no group ever sets itself up as the One without at once setting up the Other over against itself” (ibid.) Bauman (1991) confirms this notion of ‘otherness’ as central to the way in which societies establish identity categories. The concept of ‘other’ is concerned with binary opposites or notions of difference. He argues that identities are set up as dichotomies which are “crucial for the practice and the vision of the social order” (Bauman 1991, 14). While one side “depends on the first for its contrived and enforced isolation” the other side “depends on the second for its self-assertion” (ibid.). Museums have a long tradition of exhibiting and representing ‘otherness’, be it from other times, places, cultures or subgroups within society. Typically, dominant groups have spoken for subjugated groups that have been denied the ability to speak for themselves by the dominant group. In museums worldwide, anthropologists have traditionally spoken for Indigenous people with whom they have been brought into contact with through colonialism, Indigenous objects and human remains have been displayed, and even individuals themselves were part of exhibitions.24 Hall notes that the “exhibiting of ‘other cultures’ – often performed with the best of liberal intentions – has proved controversial. The questions – ‘Who should control the power to represent?’ ‘Who has the authority to re-present the culture of others?’ – have resounded through the museum corridors of the world, provoking a crisis of authority” (2005, 25), and the notions of universal knowledge and Eurocentric grand narratives of Western culture have received harsh criticism. Indeed, the discursive practice of speaking for others has come under increasing condemnation, especially within the museums context. Authority to justifiably speak for others has been questioned by museum professionals, stakeholders and those whom museums seek to represent and is no longer acceptable. Hutcheon observed that over the last decades, “museums have begun to see themselves as cultural ‘texts’ and have become increasingly self-reflexive about their premise, identity, and mission” (1994, 296). As a result of social protest, internal changes within museums and new museology, the authority to represent and speak on behalf of others is no longer assumed to be an inherent right of the museum and its ‘experts’. Alcoff noted

24 Some of the most notorious exhibitions ‘featuring’ Indigenous people were Hagenbeck’s Völkerschau, one of the ethnological expositions or ‘human zoos’ of the nineteenth and twentieth century (Blanchard et al. 2008; Lutz 2005) or the display of Ishi, “last of the Yahi people”, in the Hearst Museum (Denzin 2021; King 2003; Kroeber 1964).

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changes taking place in the way communities felt about ‘experts’ and those who spoke on their behalf and argues that “when one is speaking about others, or simply trying to describe their situation or some aspects of it, one may also be speaking in place of them, that is, speaking for them” (1991, 9). This notion is problematic for museums that represent ‘others’ that are not under pressure to allow communities to speak for themselves, moving “from a passive voice of expertise to authored polyvocal exhibits” (Onciul 2015, 7). Connected to these issues of representation the display of objects has been discussed (e.g., Clifford 1991, Houlihan 1991). Objects can be understood as ‘texts’ that need to be ‘read’. Without the act of ‘reading’, they lack any intrinsic meaning (Silverman 1995). Meusburger argues that objects “neither send an unambiguous message nor prompt the same thoughts and associations in all individuals who see them” (2011, 63). Whether the observer accepts and shares an object’s chosen message “depends less on the manipulative power of an image [. . .] or text than on the person’s prior knowledge, experience, level of information, and cognitive schemata; the credibility of the sender; the strength of ideological convictions; and a host of other factors” (ibid.). Exploring the “agency of display,” KirshenblattGimblett (1998, 16) shows how objects and people are made to perform ‘meaning’ by the very fact of being collected and exhibited. In that way, although heritage is marketed as something old, heritage is actually a new mode of cultural production that revitalizes vanishing ways of life, economies and places. Since objects are always related to stories and memory, they have power and can trigger profound experiences among visitors and stimulate a range of responses. Objects can also be seen as “vehicles for the negotiation of social values” (Middleton and Brown 2011, 42). A pipe or piece of clothing, thus, becomes “a symbolic token that is recognizable as such to all group members who are ‘in the know’. In this way, objects “carry with them a set of associations that resource remembering” (ibid.). Usually, objects are presented within familiar ideas, making it possible to read and understand them. Houlihan states that “when confronting museum visitors with the object of a ‘foreign’ culture, we invariably immediately relieve the viewer of his or her uncertainty by exhibiting the unknown objects in the context of familiar and, thus, more friendly categories, for example, subsistence, religion, art, primitive art, folk art, etc.” (1991, 207). Different ways of looking at and interpreting objects at museums, thus, become acts of ‘reading’ and employing power.25 Interpretation is usually done by the ‘experts’ who write the accompanying texts. Depending on curation, the museums represent specific stories and narratives about the objects that are displayed; they speak to visitors not only through displays and exhibitions, but also through audios, films and installations. Other factors such as lighting, labels and the structure of display cabinets also play a role in getting the message across (Clifford 1991). Even

25

On the storytelling and interpretation of museum objects see Kelly 2010; Lubar and Kendrick 2008; Moortheeswari 2015; Smith 1989; Pearce 1992, 1994; Vermeylen and Pilcher 2009, among others.

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the museum store or the cafeteria might be involved in the ‘storytelling’ at the site. Curators need to consider these and other issues, such as the location and architecture of the building, the surrounding landscape, and narratives of culture and place. Besides, in structuring the exhibition, it is important to care for history, culture and language. The problem of finding ways to depict Indigenous cultures to the public is “an ongoing challenge”, as Morrison (1997, 389) observes – for non-Indigenous and tribal museums and heritage sites alike.26 He states further: “Combining education and entertainment, the museum curator must break layers of misconception, myth, and outright distortion through strategies that keep the public both interested and informed” (ibid.). Meaningful collaboration and representation are difficult to achieve and needs more than “smartly Indigenized rooms” (Häntzschel 2004, 15; Phillips 2011). Instead, innovative exhibitions and community approaches are needed.27 In that respect, exhibitions with an emphasis on diversity and multidisciplinary collaboration have been created, and the museum has become a strategic space for negotiating ownership of and access to knowledges produced in local settings. Many studies have explored the social spaces between the museum and community and offer new ways of addressing the challenges of bridging the local and the global. A variety of strategies have been developed for engaging source communities in the process of translation and the collaborative mediation of cultural knowledges (McCarthy 2021; Onciul 2015; Silverman 2015; Stanley 2007). Key themes in relation to the curatorship of Indigenous museums such as selfdetermination and management, community development, agency and audience, the functions of museums and engagement with tourism have been discussed (e.g., Stanley 2007). While collaboration is becoming the norm in the museum world, marking a new relationship between Indigenous people and museums, it is often still confined to consultation (see Sect. 3.2).28 Changing power negotiations between the museums and communities they represent, however, have become manifested in such ‘products’ as co-produced exhibits, museum programming, employment of community members, collection loans or repatriations, community inclusion on museum boards and changes to museum practice and ethos (Onciul 2015).

26

At the Huron Traditional Site at Wendake, a tipi has been set up, although the Huron-Wendat traditionally dwelled in longhouses and never built or used tipis made of skins. To my question why the tipi was there, a guide responded that “that’s what tourists want to see” (Personal conversation with guide, 2010). 27 In this regard, Houlihan (1991, 207) praises the “near-total absence of object labels” at the U’mista Cultural Centre, understanding objects as ‘poetry’ that have an effect without instructions. 28 A landmark in Indigenous museology is the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa (www. tepapa.govt.nz). Acknowledging the unique position of Māori in Aotearoa and the need to secure their participation in the governance, management and operation of the museum, Te Papa is run by an executive team of a CEO and Kaihautū (the Māori Co-leader) that share strategic leadership. For more information see Hakiwai 2012; Te Papa 2016. In Canada, the exhibitions of the Canadian Museum of History in Gatineau are the result of an intensive collaboration between museum curators and First Nations representatives (Laberge 2017).

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Ideas, Concepts and Uses of Heritage

The Rise of Indigenous Museology: Self-Representation and Repatriation

Indigenous and non-Indigenous people think differently about objects and their narrative ‘competence’, which implies changes in the meaning and significance of objects. For many Indigenous people museums can imbue strong emotional responses, because ethnographic collections are connected with the trauma of colonial conquest. “It’s always hard to look at the artifacts that are in museums because we knew how they got them and how long they’d been there,” says Haida artist Andy Wilson (quoted in Lederman 2017). At the same time objects provide a direct link to traditional, pre-colonial life and insight into their culture. This “paradoxical duality” (Onciul 2015, 26) of museums’ roles makes them key sites for postcolonial debate, as they embody colonial narratives while having the potential to decolonize the history of former colonial states (Bennett 2004; Gillam 2001; Onciul 2015). In the 1960s, some Indigenous communities began looking at how to preserve and strengthen their cultural heritage through repatriation and Indigenous museology. In the process, Indigenous collectors and tribal museums began to emerge in North America and Indigenous people started to open and manage their own museums and cultural centres (Collison et al. 2019, 11; Ryker-Crawford 2017, 92).29 Indigenous museology has become a rising field of study that takes into consideration Indigenous traditional knowledge and Indigenous ways of knowing, doing and being that are emerging from the intersection of museums, heritage and history with Indigenous ontologies and epistemologies (McCarthy 2021; Onciul 2015; Stanley 2007). One of the main purposes of tribal museums is to build and strengthen the community. Collaborative engagement, mutual partnerships and active participation between museums and Indigenous communities is becoming an expected standard within the museum landscape, and the terms ‘museum’, ‘community’ and ‘engagement’ have become popular shorthand for complex networks of people, materials and ideas. The relationship between museums, politics and repatriation, and in that context the return of cultural objects such as Indigenous ancestral human remains and traditional items to the rightful owners and communities, has been discussed extensively (e.g. Feest 1995; Simpson 1996, 2009). The term repatriation refers to ownership and sovereignty, contested homelands, objectification and commodification of culture and properties. As heritage can be seen as cultural property, repatriation and saving cultural property, as well as exploitation and the market, are pressing issues, and “intellectual property lawyers have become intensively involved

29

In Canada, a number of Northwest Coast First Nations museums have been looked upon as groundbreaking institutions in that they embody what native-driven museums and cultural centers can look like. Examples are the ‘Ksan Historical Village and Museum (opened in 1970), the Haida Gwaii Museum (1976), the Nuyumbalees Cultural Centre (1979) and the U’mista Cultural Centre (1980) (Collison et al. 2019, 11).

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in the discussion of the possible protection of genetic resources, traditional knowledge and the cultural expressions of Indigenous peoples” (von Lewinski 2004, 112). New legislation has shaped the handling of Indigenous heritage and repatriation laws have been passed.30 As “decolonization is always a violent event” (Fanon 2004, 21), processes of repatriation involve political struggles and challenges for all stakeholders, as well as time. The ethnologist Anders Björklund31 claims: It is important in repatriation, and good, if it takes time because it gives both sides the opportunity to learn from each other. They can reflect on the object. It is extremely educating. Repatriation can be a positive process. Everyone can learn a lot from each other, such as ways of looking at cultural heritage, at history, at the role of museums in an era of communication and globalization, and whether it is possible to have objects return home or whether they are part of the universal cultural heritage and thus it is important to keep objects that teach about other cultures and religions (Björklund, quoted in Jessiman 2011, 380).

In any case, Indigenous peoples have a right to the repatriation of their ancestors’ remains and cultural belongings and respecting them is essential for reconciliation; it is part of the healing journey of Indigenous people. The Canadian government has taken on the responsibility to support the return of ancestral remains and ceremonial objects and provided financial and technical support to First Nations communities seeking repatriation. In this work, the government is guided by its commitment to implement the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s Calls to Action. One result of this support is the Indigenous Repatriation Handbook (Collison et al. 2019). The first repatriation guide developed by Indigenous people for Indigenous people in the world, it is a resource to support communities on their own journey in undertaking repatriation. Indigenous people have absorbed intellectual and cultural property as legal categories into their efforts to constitute identities and sovereignties (Geismar 2013). However, when artifacts are simultaneously commodified and constituted as Indigenous resources, debates may occur. Geismar argues that cultural and intellectual property discourse is used as “a filter for the production of alternative economic imaginaries that are increasingly affecting policy and practice” (2013, xi). Lührmann finds it “ironic” that collections “made in the age of ‘salvage ethnology’ in order to document the ancient ways of cultures that were expected to vanish in the near future, have become the focus of very lively exchanges between museums and Native communities” (2004, 217). And Kirshenblatt-Gimblett shows that heritage has become “one of the ways that museums [. . .] reinvent themselves and redefine

30

In the United States, the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) of 1990 is among the most important legislations concerning Indigenous heritage. The 1989 National Museum of the American Indian Act required the repatriation of human remains in the collections of the Smithsonian Institution (Bray and Killion 1994); many US states were enacting their own reburial laws at this time (Price 1991). 31 Björklund is the director or the Museum of Ethnography in Stockholm and was involved in the repatriation of the Haisla G’psgolox totem pole; see Björklund (2020), Fraccaro et al. (2017) and Jessiman (2011).

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their relationship to their stakeholders” (2004, 79), because they are “increasingly treating their collections as the heritage [. . .] of the communities from which the objects come” (ibid.). While museums are in “a problematic relationship with their respective pasts,” processes of revaluation or removal of objects open up “new possibilities for them to engage with their own histories and their own heritage, as well as with their responsibility to those whose heritage they have helped to produce” (ibid., 80). Trying to deal with their “troubled history [. . .] as agents of deculturation,” museums and heritage sites today “attempt to reverse course” (ibid., 76). Yet, “there is no way back, only a metacultural way forward” in this “story of alienation, detachment, and repudiation” (ibid.). The notion of heritage “as a mode of cultural production that creates something new” and that produces a new relationship “to that which becomes heritage” (ibid., 79) is part of this story in which Indigenous people have become a strong stakeholder.

2.6

The Heritage Industry: Tourism and Management

Inclusion on the World Heritage list serves many functions. Besides protection, it brings prestige and attracts tourist traffic to the site and the region. It might also make additional financial support available from state governments. The obligations of having a site on the World Heritage List are to give adequate legislative protection to the site, to maintain it properly and to erect a World Heritage plaque (UNESCO 2019). Sometimes, however, tourism and management conflict and clash with local uses of heritage and with issues of protection and conservation. Hence there are many controversial and sensitive issues regarding ownership and control, management, community involvement, interpretation and representation of heritage sites, which have been discussed fairly extensively in heritage, tourism and museum studies.32 Therefore, it will only briefly be considered here what comprises local involvement at World Heritage sites, the challenges of management, and further issues that need to be taken into account concerning visitor’s expectations and information.

2.6.1

World Heritage and Tourism: Education, Entertainment and Experience

World Heritage sites attract large numbers of visitors and their contribution to the tourist economy of a particular region is substantial. To a large degree, the state and

32

On cultural tourism see Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 1998; McKercher and du Cros 2002; Richards 2007; Smith 2003; Urry 1990, among others. On Indigenous people and tourism and Indigenous tourism see Carmichael et al. 1994, Carr et al. 2018; Gerberich 2005; Kramer 2006; Notzke 2006; Simpson 1996; Walsh 1992, among others.

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other organizations are motivated to get involved in heritage because of the economic potential of heritage and its connection with tourism, as, indeed, heritage is “functionally an economic activity” (Harrison 2010a, 15). Canada’s heritage institutions, including sites, museums, galleries, archives and libraries, are an important part of the country’s culture and the custodians of Canadians’ collective memory. Together, they welcome more than 58 million visitors per year, and Canadian Heritage and its portfolio organizations play a vital role in the cultural, civic and economic life of Canadians. Arts, culture and heritage represent more than CAD 53 billion in the Canadian economy and about 666,500 jobs in various sectors (GC 2020). Generally, tourism and heritage are interrelated concepts. Tourism is required to pay for the promotion and maintenance of heritage, while heritage is required to bring in the tourism that buys services and promotes the ‘brand’ of a state, region or locality. While heritage needs tourism, it creates contradictions that have led to critique of the heritage industry relating to issues of authenticity, historical accuracy, and access, especially from Indigenous people (Harrison 2010a, 21). A major issue is the subject of cultural appropriation. It has been argued that tourism often misappropriates the cultural heritage of Indigenous peoples, e.g., objects or property belonging to Indigenous societies “are admired or used with little regard for the importance of the people who are the owners, custodians or inheritors of those objects” (Saami Council 2008, 1). Many Indigenous peoples’ culture has been used in the marketing of specific regions in many ways, and many Indigenous people and organizations see the use of the expressions of their peoples’ heritage as misappropriation of their culture and they have opposed it because of its negative effects. The way in which the tourism industry takes advantage of Indigenous culture is often experienced by Indigenous people as culturally offensive. Furthermore, there have been conflicts about land use through tourism, as multiple uses of sacred sites have always been problematic (Price 1994; Reeves 1994).33 Although people often are not aware of UNESCO, they understand the notion of ‘World Heritage’ when they visit such sites. They may not realize the specific criteria for their selection, nomination or inscription, but they come with certain expectations and often a preconceived knowledge and ‘read’ the ‘texts’ at the sites drawing on their background knowledge. Hollinshead, referring to Urry (1990, 1992), points out that “tourist gazers are strongly inclined to [. . .] seek certain different, revered, or cherished ‘objects’ as identified by their own cultural understandings/ethnocentrisms” and “appropriate the narratives or the realities about other people/other places/other pasts” (Hollinshead 1999, 11). Indeed, visitors see and experience heritage with a certain focus and “tend to privilege ‘the eye’ over other senses as they see, understand, and appropriate desired things” (ibid.). Urry (1990) identifies

33

Price (1994) discusses tourism and the Bighorn Medicine Wheel in Wyoming and argues that multiple uses do not work for sacred land sites; Reeves (1994) shows conflicts that emerge at Ninaistákis (Chief Mountain), the Nitsitapii’s sacred mountain, as traditional religious activities and tourism clash.

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the idea of the ‘tourist gaze’ as a systematic way of seeing what tourists look at. These ways of looking can be described, explained and institutionalized, construct reality and normalize a range of touristic experiences. The concept of the ‘gaze’ can be credited to Foucault’s ideas of power and knowledge (Hollinshead 1999, 10). As different people learn to see in different ways, their ‘gaze’ may be used to govern others and ‘authorized heritage’ becomes a form of social control (Smith 2006, 52). When those gazed upon gaze back, however, power structures may change, visitors’ experiences differ, and new experiences of ‘gazing’ at heritage may occur. Usually, museums and heritage sites are meant to provide entertainment, education and experiences (Weil 2002, 64). It becomes a balancing act between educating tourists and fulfilling their desires and making them come in the first place, having them spend their money and spread the word. First and foremost, visitors want to ‘feel good’ and often they are looking for confirmation of their ideas. In terms of Indigenous heritage, tourists often hold stereotypical images and presumptions and they want to meet ‘authentic Indians’ and have ‘authentic’ experiences with them. Visitors of World Heritage sites such as Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump are looking for an interesting and stimulating experience and some “fun and excitement,” not “dull history.”34 If the history represented is part of a local or national history that casts a shadow on certain epochs, visitors can struggle with the content. The management of World Heritage sites has to deal with these expectations, and the educational function of sites and museums becomes an important aspect of the management. Interpreting the site and translating its meanings into a language visitors can understand is an important task. It ensures the ‘use’ of the site in three ways: it reveals the meanings a site represents, facilitates valuable experiences for visitors and fulfills UNESCO’s and/or Parks Canada’s missions. The management, thus, needs to ask how to engage visitors in the multiple stories embedded in a site and/or landscape and how to “tell these stories in a way that honors the landscape and the communities whose stories are told” (Hayes 2016, 35). The challenge of interpreting the multiple layers of a heritage site and landscape’s story is rooted in many factors, including the organization’s founding and preservation. The stories told are always embedded in the multiple ‘heritage discourses’ represented at the site. While protecting the sites and landscapes, employees must develop interpretation and educate the visitors about the site (Pinto 2016, 75). Indeed, interpreters are the key element in that communication.35 Freeman Tilden (1957, 100) recognized the critical importance of communicating that knowledge to others and claimed that the primary need for interpretation is to inspire a desire to protect and preserve “the physical memorials of our natural and historic origins.” Developing guiding

34

Personal visitor survey at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump in 2011. Interpretation as a profession has evolved over time; for more information see Beck and Cable 1998; Larsen 2003; Lewis 1980; Ham 2013; NPS 2007.

35

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principles for interpretation and providing both a definition of interpretation and a reason to provide interpretive services to visitors, he wrote: It is true that each preserved monument ‘speaks for itself’. But unfortunately it speaks in a language that the average visitor cannot comprehend. Beauty and the majesty of natural forces need no interlocutor. They constitute a personal spiritual experience. But when the question is ‘why?’ or ‘what?’ or ‘how did this come to be?’ [interpreters] must have the answers. And this requires both patient research and the development of a program fitted to a great variety of needs (Tilden 1968, 56–57).

Yet, cultural resource specialists, managers, landscape architects and historians often struggle to translate the unfamiliar concept of a cultural landscape into usable language for interpreters and the visiting public, as Pinto remarks: “Without that conceptual understanding, cultural landscapes and the component features that comprise those human-derived places remain unrecognized and unknown” (2016, 75). As a landscape historian, Pinto is convinced that teaching through a landscape format is “the best way to educate the public about the integrated resources within and around each park” (ibid.). She believes that “understanding a landscape and its associated values comes from close physical exposure to that landscape, combined with a connection to its history and its people” (ibid.). By learning to ‘read’ cultural landscapes and “by engaging people in those landscapes with stories and past experiences, we strengthen bonds between residents and their community, and inspire visitors to become committed to preservation” (ibid.). Indeed, tangible resources and heritage sites are relevant to many people, and part of their power lies in the ability of these national treasures to convey many different things to many different people. Interpretation helps visitors discover and understand the meanings of these sites. For those visitors that already relate to the site, interpreters offer opportunities to discover a broader understanding and to see the site with new eyes. The meanings that sites provide can, thus, help to inspire and rejuvenate and even “lead to an appreciation for the richness and complexity of life” (NPS 2007, 7). For interpretation, a community approach to heritage and a look at the history of the site is important. Commonly, Indigenous people approach history not through Western constructs of causal relationship, record and time sequence, but through cosmology, narrative and place (see Sect. 3.4). Heritage is, thus, used by Indigenous people to challenge received and normative perceptions of their pasts and identities (Smith 2004). Community approaches to heritage then emphasise cultural landscapes and Indigenous relationships to land and water. They document the process whereby Indigenous traditional owners worked collaboratively with archaeologists to design and implement a method for a cultural heritage assessment that meets legislative requirements relating to archaeological sites and Indigenous needs regarding culturally significant landscapes. UNESCO participates in these processes; yet, while emphasizing the “unifying, peacemaking ideals” of World Heritage sites, it sometimes ignores the difficult history of heritage places (Di Giovine 2009, 124). Another educational aspect that needs to be encouraged is sustainability in the preservation of cultural heritage, as communicating an appreciation for cultural heritage through an integrated educational approach is a way of safeguarding

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tangible and intangible heritage. To be kept alive, tangible and intangible cultural heritage must remain relevant to a culture and be regularly practised and learned within communities and between generations. Safeguarding measures to ensure that intangible cultural heritage can be transmitted from one generation to the next are considerably different from those required for protecting tangible heritage (UNESCO n.d., 6). A close collaboration with the Indigenous community is, therefore, important, and Indigenous stories, narratives and approaches to management need to be considered, shared and followed in the management of World Heritage sites related to Indigenous heritage. Helweg-Larsen (2017) explores ways in which place-based Indigenous perspectives inform national park visitor experience, planning, management and information delivery.36 Informed by Indigenous ways of knowing and principles of knowledge-sharing and, at the same time, burdened with issues of state power, commodification and colonialism, there are many dynamics that are revealed when the depth of Indigenous connections to place are made visible, which will be explored more closely in the case studies.

2.6.2

The Management of a World Heritage Site

While, at first glance, the management of a World Heritage site appears to be much like the management of any other cultural institution, on closer inspection, it encompasses several different cultural functions, which can have different goals. Di Giovine (2009) argues that there is always a ‘drama of the destination’ created which leads to specific requirements in managing and interpreting World Heritage sites. Often, these requirements lead to clashes between the needs of heritage conservation and everyday practices at the sites that are connected to tourism and/or local uses. For that reason, the management of a World Heritage site “quickly develops into an exercise in mediation,” claims Köstlin (2002, 43), who lists six functions of a World Heritage site. While preservation, research and finances can be seen as internal functions, education, representation and recreation and entertainment are interactions with the outside world and, thus, external functions. These different functions of heritage exist isolated from each other, but interact in different ways and demand different management strategies that are sometimes contradictory and may lead to conflicts. There are, for example, conflicts between the preservation and the public functions concerning the daily use of the site or between restoration and reconstruction. In daily management, however, it is often difficult to distinguish between these aspects, because most of the functions are supported by staff.

36

Helweg-Larsen (2017) looks at ways to more widely share cultural history and knowledge in Pacific Rim National Park Reserve, examining knowledge, power and place in the context of Indigenous self-representation. Working with the Tseshaht First Nation, she explores the knowledge of Tseshaht-identified places of cultural significance in Tseshaht traditional territory and the delivery of that knowledge to visitors.

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Furthermore, different stakeholders are involved in the management of heritage, such as the public and private sector, official and non-official, insider and outsider, and each stakeholder has varied and multiple objectives in heritage creation and management (Ashworth and Graham 2016). Working together is not always easy, though (Cooper 1997). In terms of promoting community involvement in heritage management, it is useful to consider the principles and approaches offered by the UNESCO conventions and Operational Guidelines. These normative instruments can help to encourage good practice by promoting community involvement in heritage management, and, according to Deacon and Smeets, “in theory do this increasingly well” (2013, 15). The documents have incorporated a number of requirements for States Parties and experts to consult communities and involve them in heritage management, which may create space for better dialogue between stakeholders at national and local levels. At the same time, however, Deacon and Smeets (2013) outline a number of barriers to realizing the vision of greater community involvement in heritage management under different conventions.37 They state that it is not sufficient to simply state the need for greater community involvement in heritage management in the texts of international instruments in order to change existing practices, but official texts need to systematically set out requirements for community participation. The two authors criticize inconsistent requirements for community participation in the Operational Guidelines and the lack of requirement for States Parties nominating properties to demonstrate meaningful community involvement in identification and management of their heritage. Moreover, determinations of value and authenticity are still largely required to be done by external experts, as the case of Tr’ondëkKlondike demonstrates. This weakens the convention’s commitment to community involvement in heritage management and encourages authorized experts and states to speak for ‘cultural communities’ (ibid., 15). Deacon and Smeets argue further that community representatives are given no specific status or role in relation to the organs of UNESCO, and States Parties and experts who help to draft nominations and management plans “retain considerable power to decide who to consult in developing nominations and how to represent heritage” (ibid., 16). Although community involvement and stakeholder participation appears to be a mainstream approach for heritage management today, it was not the case twenty years ago.38 In only 2007, the World Heritage Committee added ‘community’ as a fifth

37

Deacon and Smeets (2013) analyze the authenticity, value and community involvement in heritage management under the World Heritage Convention (1972) and the Intangible Heritage Convention (2003). 38 With the adoption of the category of ‘cultural landscape’ in the Operational Guidelines by the World Heritage Committee, a major shift occurred in World Heritage concepts and approaches in 1992. While for a long time it was intended to prevent unnecessary publicity during nomination processes among communities, the ‘experts’ on cultural landscapes now considered consultations with the local communities “crucial in the nomination process, as these communities were as a matter of fact managing the land” (Rössler 2012, 27), which marked a turning point in the evolution of the Convention, from a policy of not involving local people in the nomination of properties to considering them as partners in site management.

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objective to its four Strategic Objectives of credibility, conservation, capacity-building and communication (Albert 2012; Rössler 2012). This was an essential step, as many World Heritage sites have been effectively managed by communities over centuries. Since then, the World Heritage Committee increasingly recognizes sites which are managed by local communities and Indigenous people, and some sites are now officially under joint management, as is the case of Gwaii Haanas, or local people are included in the management system (Rössler 2012, 29). Recognizing “a close interaction between the appreciation of local values and the outstanding universal value,” the World Heritage Committee established “a continuous reflection process back to local communities, which then feel their heritage recognized by the global community,” according to Rössler (ibid.). The underlying reason for this policy was the recognition of the critical importance of involving Indigenous and local communities in the implementation of the Convention. The resulting changes in the Operational Guidelines were fundamental for the involvement of Indigenous people and local communities in site management, and recognized the shared responsibilities between them and the State Party regarding site maintenance. Additionally, “a human-rights based approach” was added to paragraph 12 of the Operational Guidelines in 2019, which illustrates a further step towards partnership in site management: States Parties to the Convention are encouraged to adopt a human-rights based approach, and ensure gender-balanced participation of a wide variety of stakeholders and rights-holders, including site managers, local and regional governments, local communities, indigenous peoples, nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) and other interested parties and partners in the identification, nomination, management and protection processes of World Heritage properties (UNESCO 2019, 10).

Indeed, the implementation of the World Heritage Convention and its interpretation has changed considerably over time. Disko observes that the rights-based approach in the application of the fifth Strategic Objective to Indigenous communities helped Indigenous peoples who live in or near World Heritage sites “to exercise their right to maintain and develop their cultural heritage, traditional knowledge and cultural expressions, and their right to development on accordance with their own aspirations and needs” (2012, 18). He also argues that this would “help to ensure that the designation of sites as World Heritage does not contribute to or legitimize the misappropriation of Indigenous heritage, and would thereby strengthen the credibility of the World Heritage List” (ibid.). In the case of differences or disputes regarding conservation interests and the collective interests of the Indigenous owner or custodians of a site, this would also ensure that any differences are resolved in a fair and balanced way (ibid.). In any case, the involvement of local communities and Indigenous people in World Heritage management illustrates a paradigm shift from nature reserves and monuments to “the truly shared heritage of humanity”, according to Rössler (2012, 30). In her opinion, this shows “a globally growing awareness that our common heritage is being preserved by local people over centuries and they are truly maintaining and managing this heritage,” which “provided a new recognition of the role of communities in heritage preservation” (ibid.). This was also reflected in changes in relevant documents such as the Operational Guidelines, in standard-

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setting guidance such as the Burra Charter, and in best practice examples of community involvement at World Heritage sites. Rössler states: The outstanding universal value of World Heritage sites is based on local values, local experiences and [. . .] local conservation efforts. World Heritage is not only the success story of heritage conservation efforts on a global scale, it is also a success story of local people and communities who make this global heritage possible (ibid.).

This is in accordance with UNESCO’s obligation to further universal respect for human rights, but also with the character and function of World Heritage sites as ‘spaces for sustainable development’ and ‘tools for reconciliation’.39 Lately, studies on Indigenous heritage sites and collaborative cooperation between Indigenous communities and non-Indigenous archaeologists have been published that present new and innovative opportunities for community control in cultural heritage management practice (e.g., Greer 2010; Prangnell et al. 2010). They focus on notions of landscape, sites and objects and the ways in which archaeological and Indigenous perspectives of these are both similar and different. Greer (2010), for example, shows that artifacts are not only central for archaeologists, bus also important within Indigenous frameworks, and community-based approaches are necessary to get insights for a deeper understanding of Indigenous local heritage. Illustrating the value of a community-led cultural heritage management project, Prangnell et al. (2010) demonstrate that effective heritage management can be undertaken in accordance with appropriate Indigenous law and community control.40 Another point in the management of World Heritage sites is the differentiation between cultural and natural heritage. Until recently, cultural heritage management has conceptualised heritage mainly as isolated sites or objects. This ‘site-based approach’ of land managers and heritage practitioners “has the unfortunate effect of reinforcing the notion of culture and nature as spatially separate and thus able to be managed independently” (Brown 2010, 4). In a park context, cultural heritage sites are, therefore, “seen as isolated points or pathways that are set in a natural landscape” (ibid.). Natural environments, however, are part of cultural sites, and vice versa, and a cultural landscape approach offers an opportunity to “integrate natural and cultural heritage conservation by seeing culture and nature as interconnected dimensions of the same space” (ibid., 5). Mitchell and Buggey (2001) confirm this view: A cultural landscape perspective explicitly recognises the history of a place and its cultural traditions in addition to its ecological value [. . .] A landscape perspective also recognises the continuity between the past and with people living and working on the land today (Mitchell and Buggey 2001, 19).

39 According to its Medium-Term Strategy for 2008–2013, UNESCO seeks to ensure that the conservation of sites contributes to social cohesion as loci of reconciliation and sustainable development (paragraph 106). 40 There is a growing body of publications for managers of heritage sites, especially of Indigenous heritage.

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The concept that heritage is either inherently natural or cultural will determine what types of management strategies and practices are deployed for their conservation or preservation. Management approaches to cultural landscapes must be based on a clear understanding of the complex interrelationship of the natural and cultural (Beresford 2003; Lowenthal 2005). Promoting a cultural landscape approach, Brown (2010, 7) proclaims six steps in the management that incorporates engaging the community, identifying places, landscapes and values, mapping heritage and developing a plan for managing cultural values. Since community engagement is about relationship building, Brown also adopted a set of principles to guide relations with Indigenous peoples, acknowledging that Indigenous spiritual and cultural values exist in the land, waters and natural resources. Effective engagement with Indigenous people is a requirement for undertaking any cultural heritage study, implying that all groups with ownership rights or a historical interest in an area of land must be “actively engaged in identifying, assessing, managing and interpreting” Indigenous cultural heritage places and values (ibid.). The management and use of heritage must impact upon the meanings that individuals and communities give to the past and present. One of the major components of the debate on community development is empowering communities to make decisions for themselves rather than have someone else making decisions for them. Positive relationships between stakeholders in planning are cooperation, coordination, collaboration and partnership (Hall and McArthur 1998). According to Deegan, a “fine balance of both top-down and bottom-up management strategies is key to the sustainability of World Heritage sites” (2012, 77). Recently, the World Heritage system has “begun to embrace bottom-up approaches to site management involving local communities to a much greater degree than before” (ibid., 82). While still encouraging the States Parties to adopt adequate top-down legal and regulatory systems, the World Heritage Committee now promotes community involvement and public participation in management strategies, recognizing the importance of traditional forms of management and protection. It has been recognized that heritage is best protected not only through strict laws, but also through a widely shared understanding of heritage values and their importance in community development, which is further discussed in the next chapter.

Bibliography Literature Acocella, Joan. 2007. “The Typing Life: How Writers Used to Write,” The New Yorker, April 9, https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2007/04/09/the-typing-life [accessed 30 Sep 2020]. Albert, Marie-Theres. 2006. “Culture, Heritage and Identity,” in: Marie-Theres Albert and Sieglinde Gauer-Lietz (eds.). Perspektiven des Welterbes / Constructing World Heritage, Frankfurt am Main: IKO-Verlag für Interkulturelle Kommunikation, 30–37.

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Phillips, Adrian. 2002. Management Guidelines for IUCN Category V Protected Areas: Protected Landscapes/Seascapes. Cambridge: IUCN – The World Conservation Union. Phillips, Ruth B. 2011. Museum Pieces: Toward the Indigenization of Canadian Museums. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Pinto, Robin L. 2016. “The Civilian Conservation Corps at Chiricahua National Monument: A Cultural Landscape for Interpretation,” in: Samantha Weber (ed.), Engagement, Education, and Expectations: The Future of Parks and Protected Areas. Proceedings of the 2015 George Wright Society Conference on Parks, Protected Areas, and Cultural Sites. Hancock, Michigan: George Wright Society, 75–80. Prangnell, Jonathan, Anne Ross and Brian Coghill. 2010. “Power Relations and Community Involvement in Landscape-Based Cultural Heritage Management Practice: An Australian Case Study,” International Journal of Heritage Studies, 16(1–2), 140–155. Price, Marcus. 1991. Disputing the Dead: U.S. Law on Aboriginal Remains and Grave Goods. Columbia: University of Missouri Press. Price, Nicole. 1994. “Tourism and the Bighorn Medicine Wheel: How Multiple Use Does Not Work for Sacred Land Sites,” in: David L. Carmichael et al. (eds.), 1994, Sacred Sites, Sacred Places. London: Routledge, 159–164. Reeves, Brian. 1994. “Ninaistákis – The Nitsitapii’s Sacred Mountain: Traditional Native Religious Activities and Land Use/Tourism Conflicts,” in: David L. Carmichael, Jane Hubert, Brian Reeves and Audhild Schanche (eds.), Sacred Sites, Sacred Places. London: Routledge, 265–295. Remensnyder, Amy G. 1996. “Legendary Treasure at Conques: Reliquaries and Imaginative Memory,” Speculum, 71, 884–906. Richards, Greg (ed.). 2007. Cultural Tourism: Global and Local Perspectives. Binghamton: The Haworth Press Inc. Rodman, Margaret C. 2003. “Empowering Place: Multilocality and Multivocality,” in: Seta M. Low and Denise Lawrence-Zúñiga (eds.), The Anthropology of Space and Place: Locating Culture. Malden, M.A.: Blackwell, 204–223. Rössler, Mechtild. 2006a. “World Heritage Cultural Landscapes: A Global Perspective. Welterbe Kulturlandschaften: Eine globale Perspektive,“ In: Marie-Theres Albert and Sieglinde GauerLietz (eds.), Perspektiven des Welterbes. Constructing World Heritage. Frankfurt, London: IKO Verlag für Interkulturelle Kommunikation, 142–152. Rössler, Mechtild. 2006b. “World Heritage Cultural Landscapes: A UNESCO Flagship Programme 1992–2006,” Landscape Research, 31 (4), October, 333–353. Rössler, Mechtild. 2008. “Applying Authenticity to Cultural Landscapes,” APT Bulletin, The Journal of Preservation Technology, XXXIX (2–3), 47–52. Rössler, Mechtild. 2010. “World Heritage and Sustainable Development: The Case for Cultural Landscapes,” in: Dieter Offenhäußer, Walther Ch. Zimmerli, and Marie-Theres Albert (eds.), World Heritage and Cultural Diversity. Cottbus: German Commission for UNESCO and Brandenburg University of Technology, 196–202. Rössler, Mechtild. 2012. “Partners in Site Management. A Shift in Focus: Heritage and Community Involvement,” in: Marie-Theres Albert, Marielle Richon, Marie José Viñals, and Andrea Witcomb (eds.), Community Development through World Heritage. Paris: UNESCO, 27–31. Ryker-Crawford, Jessie. 2017. Towards an Indigenous Museology: Native American and First Nations Representation and Voice in North American Museums. Doctoral dissertation. Seattle: University of Washington. Saami Council. 2008. The Cultural Heritage of Indigenous Peoples and Its Protection: Rights and Challenges. Rovaniemi: Saami Council. Sauer, Carl O. 1925. The Morphology of Landscape. Berkeley: University of California Berkely Press. Shi-xu. 2005. A Cultural Approach to Discourse. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Silverman, Lois H. 1995. “Visitor Meaning-Making in Museums for a New Age,” Curator: The Museum Journal, 38(3), 161–170.

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Silverman, Raymond A. (ed). 2015. Museum as Process: Translating Local and Global Knowledges. London: Routledge. Simpson, Moira. 1996. Making Representations: Museums in the Post-Colonial Era. London: Routledge. Simpson, Moira. 2009. “Museums and Restorative Justice: Heritage, Repatriation and Cultural Education,” Museum International, 61(1–2), 121–129. Skrede, Joar, and Herdis Hølleland. 2018. “Uses of Heritage and Beyond: Heritage Studies Viewed Through the Lens of Critical Discourse Analysis and Critical Realism,” Journals of Social Archaeology, 18(1), 77–96. Smith, Charles Saumarez. 1989. “Museums, Artefacts, and Meanings,” in: Peter Vergo (ed.), The New Museology. London: Reaction Book, 4–19. Smith, Laurajane. 2004. Archaeological Theory and the Politics of Cultural Heritage. London and New York: Routledge. Smith, Laurajane. 2006. Uses of Heritage. London: Routledge. Smith, Melanie K. 2003. Issues in Cultural Tourism Studies. London: Routledge. Spirn, Anne Whiston. 1998. The Language of Landscape. New Haven: Yale University Press. Stanley, Nick (ed.). 2007. The Future of Indigenous Museums: Perspectives from the Southwest Pacific. New York: Berghahn Books. Strehlow, Theodor G. H. 1970. “Geography and the Totemic Landscape in Central Australia: A Functional Study,” in: Ronald M. Berndt (ed.), Australian Aboriginal Anthropology. Perth: University of Western Australia Press, 92–140. Stumpff, Linda Moon. 2000. “In Wilderness There is Life: An American Indian Perspective on Theory and Actions for Wildlands.” in: Alan E. Watson, Greg H. Aplet and John C. Hendee (eds.). Personal, Societal, and Ecological Values of Wilderness: Sixth World Wilderness Congress Proceedings on Research, Management, and Allocation. Ogden: U.S. Dept. of Agriculture, Forest Service, Rocky Mountain Research Station, 98–102. Susemihl, Geneviève. 1994. “. . . and It Became My Home.” Die Assimilation und Integration der deutsch-jüdischen Hitlerflüchtlinge in New York and Toronto. Berlin: LIT Verlag. Taylor, Christopher J. 1990. Negotiating the Past: The Making of Canada’s National Historic Parks and Sites. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Te Papa. 2016. Strategic Narrative: Our World, Our Story, Our Future. Wellington: Museum of New Zealand Ta Papa Tongarewa. TH (Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in). 2016. Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage Act. Dawson City: Council of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in. Thrift, Nigel. 1983. “On the Determination of Social Action in Space and Time,” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 1, 23–57 Tilden, Freeman. 1957. Interpreting Our Heritage. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Tilden, Freeman. 1968. The Fifth Essence: An Invitation to Share in Our Eternal Heritage. Washington, DC: The National Park Trust Fund Board. Tonkinson, Robert. 2011. “Landscape, Transformations, and Immutability in an Aboriginal Australian Culture,” in: Peter Meusburger, Michael Heffernan and Edgar Wunder, Cultural Memories: The Geographical Point of View. Dordrecht: Springer, 329–345. UNESCO. 1972. Convention Concerning the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage. Paris: The General Conference. UNESCO. 2001. Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity. Paris: General Conference. UNESCO. 2003. Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage. Paris: General Conference. UNESCO. 2005. Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions. Paris: General Conference. UNESCO. 2011. Preparing World Heritage Nominations: World Heritage Resource Manual. Paris: UNESCO World Heritage Centre. UNESCO. 2017a. “What is meant by ‘cultural heritage’?”, http://www.unesco.org/new/en/culture/ themes/illicit-trafficking-of-cultural-property/unesco-database-of-national-cultural-heritagelaws/frequently-asked-questions/definition-of-the-cultural-heritage/ [accessed 26 Oct 2020].

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UNESCO. 2017b. Operational Guidelines for the Implementation of the World Heritage Convention. Paris: World Heritage Centre. UNESCO. 2019. Operational Guidelines for the Implementation of the World Heritage Convention. Paris: World Heritage Centre. UNESCO. 2021a. Cultural Landscapes, https://whc.unesco.org/en/culturallandscape [accessed 27 Sep 2021]. UNESCO. 2021b. Global Strategy, https://whc.unesco.org/en/globalstrategy/#objectives [accessed 06 May 2021]. UNESCO. 2021c. World Heritage, http://whc.unesco.org/en/about/ [accessed 27 Sep 2021]. UNESCO. n.d. “What is Intangible Cultural Heritage?” https://ich.unesco.org/doc/src/01851-EN. pdf [accessed 04 Jun 2020]. Urry, John. 1990. The Tourist Gaze: Leisure and Travel in Contemporary Societies. London: Sage. Urry, John. 1992. “The Tourist Gaze ‘Revisited’,” American Behavioral Scientist, 36(2), 172–186 van de Port, Mattijs and Birgit Meyer. 2018. “Introduction – Heritage Dynamics: Politics of Authentication, Aesthetics of Persuasion and the Cultural Production of the Read,” in: Birgit Meyer and Mattijs van de Port (eds.), Sense and Essence: Heritage and the Cultural Production of the Real. New York: Berghahn Books, 1–39. van der Aa, Bart J.M. 2005. Preserving the Heritage of Humanity? Obtaining World Heritage Status and the Impacts of Listing. Doctoral Thesis. Groningen: University of Groningen. Vergo, Peter (ed.). 1989. The New Museology. London: Reaction Book. Vermeylen, Saskia and Jeremy Pilcher. 2009. “Let the ‘Objects’ Speak: Online Museums and Indigenous Cultural Heritage,” International Journal of Intangible Heritage, 4(4), 60–78. Verschuuren, Bas, et al. (eds.) 2010. Sacred Natural Sites: Conserving Nature and Culture. London: Earthscan. von Lewinski, Silke. 2004. “Protecting Cultural Expressions: The Perspective of Law,” in: Erich Kasten (ed.) Properties of Culture – Cultures as Property: Pathways to Reform in Post-Soviet Siberia. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag, 112–127. Waller, Laurie. 2016. “Curating Actor-Network Theory: Testing Object-Oriented Sociology in the Science Museum,” Museum & Society, 14(1), 193–206. Walsh, Kevin. 1992. The Representation of the Past: Museums and Heritage in the Post-modern World. London: Routledge. Wassmann, Jürg. 2011. “Person, Space, and Memory: Why Anthropology Needs Cognitive Science and Human Geography,” in: Peter Meusburger, Michael Heffernan and Edgar Wunder (eds.), Cultural Memories: The Geographical Point of View. Dordrecht: Springer, 347–360. Waterton, Emma. 2010. Politics, Policy and the Discourses of Heritage in Britain. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Waterton, Emma, Laurajane Smith, and Gary Campbell. 2006. “The Utility of Discourse Analysis to Heritage Studies: The Burra Charter and Social Inclusion,” International Journal of Heritage Studies, 12(4), 339–355. Weil, Stephen E. 2002. Making Museums Matter. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press. Williams, Gerald E. (comp.). 2003. References on the American Indian Use of Fire in Ecosystems. Washington, D.C.: USDA Forest Service. Williams, Raymond. 1973. The Country and The City. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wu, Jianguo. 2010. “Landscape of Culture and Culture of Landscape: Does Landscape Ecology Need Culture?” Landscape Ecology, 25(8), 1147–1150. Wu, Zongjie, and Song Hou. 2015. “Heritage and Discourse,” in: Emma Waterton and Steve Watson (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of Contemporary Heritage Research. Palgrave Macmillan, 37–51. Wylie, John. 2007. Landscape. London: Routledge.

Chapter 3

Indigenous Empowerment and Community Development through Heritage

It’s pushed me to learn about my culture more as a young Haida person. I feel really empowered that I’m the one that gets to give them a positive view not just about Haida people, but about First Nations culture as a whole. Alix Goetzinger, quote in Lui 2016

Abstract The chapter untangles the terms and concepts of empowerment, capacity building and community development. It discusses theories of community participation and Indigenous engagement within Heritage Studies, defines key concepts, such as contact and engagement zones, and elaborates on the interconnections between them. It also explores Western and Indigenous models of empowerment and participation for community development, considering cultural tourism, Indigenous rights and interests, and cultural programs. Concepts of Indigenous traditional knowledge, worldviews, narrative and place in connection with heritage are also discussed. Most importantly, the chapter introduces a framework or ‘concept map’, developed by the author, for examining and evaluating community development through heritage as reflected in different aspects of community life. The framework helps to investigate heritage sites within the context of their designation and the representation of tangible and intangible heritage, considering issues of ownership, management and control, protection and conservation, resource management, tourism, visitor expectations and public perception. Keywords Empowerment · Capacity building · Community development · Community participation · Community engagement · Indigenous knowledge · Indigenous rights · Indigenous tourism

Heritage is of great importance for Indigenous empowerment, capacity building and community development. It is a representation of Indigenous rights and sovereignty. Michael Dodson, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Social Justice Commissioner, remarked: Indigenous peoples throughout the world recognise that at the core of the violation of our rights as peoples lies the desecration of our sovereign right to control our lives, to live © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 G. Susemihl, Claiming Back Their Heritage, Heritage Studies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-40063-6_3

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according to our own laws and determine our futures. And at the heart of the violation has been the denial of our control over our identity and the symbols through which we make and remake our cultures and ourselves. Recognition of a people’s fundamental right to selfdetermination must include the right to self-definition and to be free from the control and manipulation of an alien people. It must include the right to inherit the collective identity of one’s people and to transform that identity creatively according to the self-defined aspirations of one’s people and one’s own generation. It must include the freedom to live outside the cage created by other peoples’ images and projections (Dodson 1994, 6–7).

Through representation and interpretation, many heritage sites and museums still maintain ‘cages’ created by non-Indigenous ‘experts’ that often support and disseminate the existing stereotypical images. Recently, Indigenous people have started to take over the control of the interpretation and use of their heritage. In Canada, Indigenous peoples have been claiming new rights and resources, striving to become the custodians of their land and heritage. Within the past decades, community empowerment and capacity building have emerged as key strategies in various fields within Indigenous communities. As with other strategies and best practices, many concepts in this respect have been brought to Indigenous communities by non-Indigenous researchers and practitioners. Often, however, these mainstream models and programs have limited application in meeting the needs and realities of Indigenous peoples. The strategies are often based on imported Western frameworks rather than on Indigenous epistemologies and ‘ways of knowing’. Often, Western definitions of ‘success’ and the expected benefits to the community differ greatly from tribal expectations and definitions. Using local knowledge and power to resolve community disparities and develop strategies for building capacity includes the use of heritage. Models, thus, need to consider aspects such as community history, culture, language, issues of identity and place, socio-political dimensions of heritage and the need for Indigenous people to function in both traditional and dominant cultures. For the past decades, there has been a shift for increasing Indigenous self-determination. Communities have taken control of their own issues, developing programs and defining and integrating the theoretical and cultural frameworks for applications. With this shift in the locus of power, many Indigenous professionals have looked to empowerment and capacity-building models as a means of developing locally responsive programming, using heritage as an asset. This chapter untangles the terms and concepts of empowerment, capacity building and community development, discussing concepts of community participation and Indigenous ‘engagement’ within heritage studies. It defines key concepts as they are understood in this book and elaborates on the interconnections between them. It further explores Western and Indigenous models of empowerment and participation for community development, considering cultural tourism, Indigenous rights and interests and cultural programs. Indigenous traditional knowledge, worldviews and concepts of place and heritage will also be discussed. The chapter closes with the suggestion of a framework for further exploring the case studies in terms of capacity building and community development through heritage, taking into account the management, ownership and control of (World) Heritage sites, Indigenous engagement and community benefits in various aspects of community life.

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The terms empowerment, capacity building and community development have been employed within the heritage sector for a long time. Having different meanings in different socio-cultural and political contexts, the terms include concepts such as control, self-reliance, personal choice, life in accordance with one’s values, capacity to fight for one’s rights, independence, personal decision making and capability. The definitions are also embedded in local value and belief systems. In order to apply these concepts to the case studies and analyze Indigenous empowerment, capacity building and community development through heritage, a discussion of the terms shall give an overview of their approaches and uses.

3.1.1

Empowerment

Empowerment has been employed as a key concept across many disciplines, within which scholars look at differences in the forms, causes and consequences of empowerment or disempowerment. The term is often perceived as controversial, as it covers a vast range of meanings, interpretations, definitions and concepts in different sociocultural and political contexts and carries academic, rhetorical and radical associations (Adams 2008; Narayan 2002). Hence, there are many definitions, most focussing on issues of gaining power and control over decisions and resources that determine the quality of one’s life. To some extent the term can be defined by commonsense and dictionary meanings.1 Fundamentally, empowerment is about power – the power to redefine “possibilities and options and to act on them” (Eyben et al. 2008, 5). The general concept is characterized by a move away from being deficit-oriented towards a strength-oriented perception. In its broadest sense, empowerment is the expansion of freedom of choice and action on different levels, and “the capacity of individuals, groups and/or communities to take control of their circumstances, exercise power and achieve their own goals, and the process by which, individually and collectively, they are able to help themselves and others to maximize the quality of their lives” (Adams 2008, xvi). The origins of the theory of empowerment are associated with the Brazilian humanitarian and educator Paolo Freire (1970, 1973), who proposed a concept of liberating the oppressed people of the world through education (Biancalana 2007; Hur 2006).2 In that respect empowerment can be viewed as a process, incorporating

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary (2018) defines ‘empowerment’ as both a process and a state of being: (1) “the action of empowering someone or something: the granting of the power, right, or authority to perform various acts of duties; (2) the state of being empowered [. . .], the power, right, or authority to do something.” 2 Empowerment theories are also connected with Marxist sociological theory, having been continually developed and refined through Neo-Marxist Theory and Critical Theory. 1

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actions, activities or structures, and as an outcome or a state of being, suggesting an achieved level of empowerment (Nachshen 2005; Rappaport 1987). As a process, empowerment can be defined as “a mechanism by which people, organizations, and communities gain mastery over their affairs” (Rappaport 1987, 122). In this respect, empowerment is a process in which efforts to exert control are central, and the basic components of the construct include participation with others to achieve goals, efforts to gain access to resources, and an understanding of the sociopolitical environment. Applying this general framework to the heritage sector and the analysis of the case studies in this research suggests that empowerment may include organizational processes and structures that enhance Indigenous member participation and improve organizational effectiveness for goal achievement. At the community level of analysis, empowerment may refer to collective action to improve the quality of life within the Indigenous community and to the connections among community organizations, heritage and governmental agencies. Outcomes of empowerment include intrapersonal, interactional and behavioral components (Nachshen 2005, 68–69). Aspects such as public action, patterns of social exclusion and conflict, strength of local-level institutions and the extent of political freedom may influence the outcome (Narayan 2002). Scholars have been exploring empowerment at different levels, mainly at the individual level, involving a sense of self-confidence and capacity, at the relational level, implying the ability to negotiate and influence relationships and decisions, and at the collective level, entailing community action processes.3 On the individual level, empowerment can be defined as “a process where individuals learn to see a closer correspondence between their goals and a sense of how to achieve them, and a relationship between their efforts and life outcomes” (Mechanic 1991, 641). Empowering processes on the individual level include both giving and receiving help focusing on gaining control over one’s life. This requires an understanding of the sociopolitical environment and encompasses concepts of self-efficacy and self-esteem. It means increasing one’s authority and control over the resources and decisions that affect one’s life. As people exercise real choice, they gain increased control over their lives, which involves “an effort to exert control over one’s environment, through proactive action or advocacy” (Nachshen 2005, 68). Empowerment is not only an individual psychological, but also an organizational, political, sociological, economic and spiritual construct. The psychologist Julian Rappaport suggests that empowerment is “a process, the mechanism by which people, organizations, and communities gain mastery over their affairs” (1987, 122). Taking into account structural inequalities that affect social groups rather than focusing only on individual characteristics, community empowerment reflects actions taken by a group of people to improve life in a community, as expressed in a definition that incorporates person-environment interaction:

3

See, among others, Adams 2008; Cattaneo and Chapman 2010; Nachshen 2005; Narayan 2002; Rappaport 1987; and Thomas and Velthouse 1990.

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Empowerment is an intentional, ongoing process centered in the local community, involving mutual respect, critical reflection, caring, and group participation, through which people lacking an equal share of valued resources gain greater access to and control over those resources (Cornell Empowerment Group 1989, 2).

Organizational empowerment involves processes and structures designed to enhance goal-directed actions by members of an organization. According to Rappaport, empowerment can be explicated in terms of definitions, meanings and conditions, studying settings and people and considering a variety of issues, variables and circumstances in which political control is not possible. The concept of empowerment, thus, “suggests both individual determination over one’s own life and democratic participation in the life of one’s community” (Rappaport 1987, 121), often through mediating structures such as schools, and therefore conveys “a concern with actual social influence, political power, and legal rights” (ibid.). Empowerment as such is not easy to determine, however. Scholars have tried to apply ways to measure the construct in different contexts, to study empowering processes and to distinguish empowerment from other constructs. While the process of empowerment is difficult to assess due to its dynamic nature (Nachshen 2005, 68), empowerment outcomes seem to be more easily measured. Besides, empowerment has been examined as it relates to specific populations, considering cultural diversity and contexts (ibid.; Rappaport 1987, 140). Narayan (2002, 18), for example, lists access to information and resources, inclusion and participation or agency, accountability and local organizational capacity as key elements of empowerment that can be measured. These elements are closely intertwined, “recur consistently across social, institutional, and political contexts” and constitute “successful efforts to empower poor people, increasing their freedom of choice and action in different contexts” (ibid.). Generally, power is embedded in social interactions, including the wide range of ways in which people exert influence and control. It encompasses a sense of personal control and suggests a mechanism for righting power imbalances in society (Freire 1970). Empowerment then is manifested in the processes of giving power or official authority and control to someone, which takes place in “a context where power is unequally distributed and where structures exist to perpetuate the advantages of some over others” (Cattaneo and Chapman 2010, 647). It also occurs through the improvement of conditions, standards, events and a global perspective on life (Sena 2013). When studying heritage sites, we can follow Rappaport’s (1987, 131) suggestion to get to know how the sites and policies affect the people concerned, what conditions are effective for them, and how individual people are affected by the settings which they experience. The quality of relationship between a person and his or her community and environment also needs to be analyzed. Empowerment and community participation are major strategies for alleviating poverty and social exclusion, thereby, reducing health disparities and other problems (Tsey et al. 2009). Empowerment research with Indigenous peoples, thus, focuses on perceiving tribal people as active agents interacting with the larger community. Indigenous empowerment, i.e., the increasing awareness of spiritual, political, social, racial, educational, gender and economic strengths of individuals and

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communities through heritage is gaining importance, and the value of communityled cultural heritage management is increasingly being explored among First Nations and the Canadian government (e.g., Armstrong 1998; Bell and Napoleon 2008; Bell and Paterson 2009).

3.1.2

Capacity Building

Capacity is a construct that has different meanings in different contexts. Often, capacity is used interchangeably with other concepts such as community empowerment or competence. Using them interchangeably, however, might diminish important differences that each concept contributes to the development of community initiatives (Goodman et al. 1998). The concept of community capacity has been researched and discussed predominantly within the health sector,4 and definitions often refer to improving health issues within Indigenous communities.5 Building community capacity has been viewed as a central concern of community by organizational experts and a necessary condition for the development, implementation and maintenance of effective, community-based health programs. For the heritage sector, these considerations can be adopted. Community capacity includes attributes that empower a community to effect social change; it is an important step towards self-determination, especially in minority and marginalized populations (Smith et al. 2003).6 Community capacity is a complex, multi-dimensional, dynamic concept that requires precision for assessing community assets and for developing appropriate interventions. Goodman et al. argue that “empowerment shares characteristics with capacity” (1998, 260), but “capacity seems to be a broader construct” because building capacity enhances “both community assets and the probability of successful project implementation” (259f). Attempting to define capacity, Goodman et al. note that community capacity, just as empowerment, is “a process as well as an outcome” that “includes supportive organizational structures and processes; it is multidimensional [. . .] in operating at the individual, group, organizational,

4

See, among others, Fletcher et al. 2008; Goodman et al. 1998; and Nelson 2013. Goodman et al. define community capacity as “(1) the characteristics of communities that affect their ability to identify, mobilize, and address social and public health problems, and (2) the cultivation and use of transferable knowledge, skills, systems, and resources that affect communityand individual-level changes consistent with public health-related goals and objectives” (1998, 259). 6 Growth in community capacity can be documented longitudinally (Smith et al. 2003). The Public Health Agency of Canada (PHAC 2005) developed the Community Capacity Building Tool (CCBT) for measuring community capacity building in community-based participatory research projects. The study was the first of its kind to test the tool over a two-year period during a project that involved a collaborative partnership between academic researchers and Indigenous community members (Fletcher et al. 2008). 5

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community, and policy levels [. . .]; and it is context specific.” Capacity may lead to community action and community power as one dimension of community capacity (ibid.). The existing literature identifies several ‘dimensions’ of capacity building, such as leadership, citizen participation, skills, knowledge and learning, access to resources, social and inter-organizational networks, sense of community, understanding of community history, community power, community values and critical reflection (Goodman et al. 1998; Fletcher et al. 2008; Labonte and Laverack 2001; PHAC 2005). Participation and leadership may be seen as two related dimensions that are linked in that “a community lacks capacity when its leadership does not have a strong base of actively involved residents” (Goodman et al. 1998, 262). It needs to be asked who participates and leads, how this is done, whether participation is invited, and who is taking part. It also needs to be considered whether participants are representative of the groups residing in the community, which is associated with the “participants’ sense of community, the benefits and costs associated with participation, expectancies of individual and collective control, and community members’ degrees of concern about the issue at hand” (ibid.). Marti-Costa and Serrano-Garcia (1983) point out that without grassroots participation in defining and resolving needs, community empowerment and capacity building is not possible. The participation of community members depends on several aspects, including the opportunity that the organization provides for inclusion, the skills of community members, sharing information and resources, participation of volunteers and the successes of their efforts (Goodman et al. 1998, 263). Besides, the style of leadership and decision making (including networking, visibility and political efficacy) influences community capacity and participation, as it relates to the ability of community groups “to maintain the participants’ base needed for their survival” (ibid.). Community capacity is increased when leaders are both responsive and accessible to community members, encourage and support members’ ideas and planning efforts, use democratic decision-making processes, and encourage networking and information sharing among members (ibid., 266). Furthermore, both participants and leaders must have considerable skills to ensure community capacity to address local concerns; skills in organization, group dynamics, problem solving, and conflict resolution are integral to community capacity. The ability to gain access to needed skills also demonstrates capacity. Participants are expected to coordinate meetings, plan activities and be proactive in community initiatives. The acquisition of necessary resources, whether traditional capital (e.g., property, money) or social capital (e.g., knowledge, skills), is also a way of demonstrating a high degree of skills. Resources may include funding from agencies and foundations, organized citizen groups, competent professionals such as lawyers, meeting space and facilities for activities, media production, active and responsive mediating structures, channels for communication across sectors of the community, and technical assistance from outside of the community, as well as trust. Resources such as funding, staffing and responsive political institutions influence the ability of coalitions to build social capital and address social problems. Social and interorganizational networks enhance community capacity. While the mere existence of

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networks does not necessarily strengthen capacity, organization networks can promote individual empowerment through democratic management in which “members share information and power, utilize cooperative decision-making processes, and are involved in the design, implementation, and control of efforts toward mutually defined goals” (Israel et al. 1994, 152). Further key components of community capacity are a sense of community, understanding of community history and community power. A sense of community might be characterized by membership or a feeling of belonging, influence, fulfillment of needs, emotional connectedness, and the confidence that members share common experience and history. Sense of community is closely linked to participation and active membership, collective norms and values, influence, resources, history and emotional connection (Goodman et al. 1998, 264). Community members can display and express a sense of community in various ways such as by providing social support, tangible assistance or information. Understanding and awareness of community history may also reinforce a sense of community, as a connection to the past, and provides an important backdrop for members in planning solutions to social problems. Community power always provokes questions such as who holds power, who wants power, how is the power used, and who decides how power is used. Power is often distributed unevenly across communities and may be evident in many forms, including money, material goods, status, authority and legitimacy. The existence of influence may be limited to those of a certain income, gender, age or ethnicity. Community power may be “defined as the ability to create or resist change that matters to people who share common turf, interests, or experiences” (ibid., 272). In the case studies, power has partly been distributed unequally, and interview partners complain about power structures and access to resources. Heritage, thus, might contribute differently to community capacity, and, as Goodman et al argue, “community capacity is not a value-free or objective term but embodies within it expectations of norms, standards, and desired attributes; and core values include democracy, community participation, collaboration, community control, social responsibility, respect for cultural diversity, and individual responsibility” (ibid.).

3.1.3

Community Development

The notion of ‘community’ and the development of community engagement work in the heritage sector have been widely explored, and ways in which tensions between different groups and their aspirations arise and are mediated have been examined. Indeed, the term and concept of ‘community’ have been highly debated within scholarly writing, including approaches and methods of community development (e.g., Bauman 2001; Burkett 2001; Howarth 2001; Jones 2017; Kumar 2005; Morris 1996; Waterton 2005; Waterton and Smith 2010; Waterton and Watson 2011). Rooted in sociology, community development theory focuses on the centrality of oppressed people in the process of overcoming externally imposed social problems

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(Bell and Newby 1974; Tan 2009) and can be defined as “the employment of community structured to address social needs and empower groups of people” (Mendes 2008, 250). According to Burkett (2001), community is a process in which people build relationships with others, either geographically, virtually, or imaginatively. Cohen has pointed out that “community exists in the minds of its members” (1985, 98), and Waterton and Smith suggest that communities are “social creations and experiences that are continuously in motion,” constructed and reconstructed “through ongoing experiences, engagements and relations” (2010, 8). The term ‘community’ is so fundamental that people take it for granted, as it implies an understanding of homogeneity and blending all individuality into a group identity. Especially within the heritage sector, the concept of community is a powerful and positive one. Communities, however, are not distinct objects to be studied, but “a mass of ever changing living people, with their own issues, agendas and dynamics” (Onciul 2015, 87), and engagement requires negotiation as each participating community representative has their own expectations and requirements. Often, community is connected with unity, shared values, community spirit and a construct where “everyone feels valued and safe, has an equal place and feels a shared responsibility for their community” (Bruce-Lockhart 2006, 4). This understanding of community all too easily “flips into homogeneity, a denial of difference, and an assimilation of the Other” (Burkett 2001, 241). The concept of community washes over disharmony, power, marginality and diversity. This rather “simplistic and romantic idea of community” has been around for a long time, according to Waterton and Smith (2010, 13), who suggest instead a politically engaged and critical conceptualization, one that engages with social relationships in all their complexity, taking account of action, process, power and change. As community is meant to enhance comfort, safety and longing, these characteristics often have been “used to refer to what society ‘should’ be like, and are frequently and uncritically allied with [. . .] Indigenous groups in colonial and post-colonial countries” (ibid., 15). Indeed, heritage professionals and policymakers “embraced the rhetoric of community”, as Waterton and Smith argue (2010, 7–8), because it makes people feel good about the work they do and it “seems like the right thing to do” (ibid.): We go into ‘the field’ and observe them, build up abstract notions of ‘community’ from material remains, or report on the quirky traditions of geographical ‘backwaters’. We reserve the right to speak for them and interpret them, and sometimes, ultimately, we reject them, especially if they fail to conform to our nostalgic ideals (ibid., 8).

In many situations, “jointly-run projects tend to involve things that are done for communities, rather than with them”, as Waterton and Smith argue (2010, 7, emphasis in original), presupposing particular economic means, a Western schooling, access to a specific range of skills, and the freedom to get involved and to choose or change identities. Waterton and Smith write: [T]he heritage sector is dominated by a particular notion of community, one that overlooks the fact that representations of reality can have powerful effects on any group under

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construction. It can lead to misrecognition, discrimination, lowered self-esteem and lack of parity in any engagement with heritage. This discourse shapes reality, both mystifying and naturalizing existing power relations. Importantly, it sets up specific branches of society – heritage professionals and the white middle classes – as somehow devoid of community, existing as nothing more than collections of individuals, while ‘othering’ everybody else (2010, 9; also Yar 2002).

Communities are not always sources of empowerment and positive identity; indeed, predetermined ideas of community are often imposed onto groups of people, who suffer, as a result, from lack of self-esteem, self-worth and self-identity (Howarth 2001, 233). Burkett (2001) suggests that community can be seen as an ongoing process in which identity is explored, created and recreated and is “not only essentialised through this process, but subject to the pronouncements and authority of expert judgements” (Waterton and Smith 2010, 12). According to Waterton and Smith ideas of ‘community’ and practices of the heritage sector are framed by the ‘authorized heritage discourse’, and real life communities become “misrepresentations of identity” (2010, 12), institutionalised in the heritage process. Communities “are often defined, or have their ‘authenticity’ judged, against standards set by the heritage that has been preserved ‘for them’ by heritage agencies and their experts” (ibid., 13): Indeed, the way that ideas of community have become intertwined with heritage discourses and practice has rendered communities, as much as their heritage, as subject to management and preservation. That is, community or group identity becomes the object of regulation through the heritage management process [. . .]. This occurs because the discourses and values underpinning ideas of ‘community’ [. . .] not only have exercised the heritage sector internationally following concerns with social inclusion, civic engagement and Indigenous representation, but have done so in a way that finds synergy within the Western ‘authorised heritage discourse’ (ibid., 11–12).

While some people are included within those groups entitled to make decisions about what is (or is not) heritage, others are excluded. Indeed, many Indigenous communities “have endured a less than equal footing from which to make claims about their past, their heritage and their self-image” (ibid., 13). They usually have been “overlooked as authorities capable of adjudicating their own sense of heritage”, and they lack access to necessary resources. Waterton and Smith state: “They are, in effect, subordinated and impeded because they do not hold the title ‘heritage expert’, as well as lacking the resources assumed necessary to participate in heritage projects” (ibid., 10), such as Western schooling and economic means. They are also “potentially ‘lacking’ a particular vision or understanding of heritage and the accepted values that underpin this vision (universality, national and aesthetic values, etc.)” (ibid.). Recently, more and more Indigenous people have been discussing community development and engagement, focusing on Indigenous rights and tourism.

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Community Participation and Engagement

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Community Participation and Engagement

Community participation and engagement has been a highly theorized concept in museum and heritage studies. Within Western museums, community participation has become a way to respond to the ‘authorized heritage discourse’ and “explore alternative narratives about the past” (Onciul 2015, 72).7 Museums developed exhibits with community engagement, and heritage sites have used the strategy to include Indigenous people in the management. By collaborating with communities and sharing authorship, many heritage and museum professionals have claimed that “museums can democratize and pluralize the histories they present” (ibid.). Indeed, the representation of community voices in the exhibitions can contribute to the presentation of counter-narratives (Peers and Brown 2003; Phillips 2011; Janes and Conaty 2005). Onciul, however, reminds us that the term ‘engagement’ can “conceal more than it reveals about the realities of collaborative practice” (2015, 72).8 Lynch states that there are different perspectives in all transactions between museums and participants, but the power within these processes remains invisible, often because of “a lack of awareness about the ethics of these relations within the museum’s public engagement work” (2011, 147). It is, thus, necessary to make the processes visible “to illuminate the relational complexities within the messy and contradictory work of participation in museums” (ibid.). Engagement, participation and involvement of community members need to be made evident, as there is the danger that they are perceived differently by different stakeholders, and power structures and communication flows need to be observed. Models of engagement help in this endeavour and a few of them shall be explored in this section.

3.2.1

Theorizing Engagement and Involvement: Models of Participation

Generally, the terms ‘participation’ and ‘engagement’ are broadly used to describe a range of relationships from manipulation and potential exploitation to ‘empowerment’ of communities. Theorists have attempted to cluster engagement into categories based on the intensity of power sharing involved, and a few of these models shall be examined. One of the most influential participation theories is Sherry Arnstein’s

7

In Canada, Indigenous community engagement was advocated by the Task Force Report on Museums and First Peoples (AFN 1992, 1994), calling for new partnerships between museums and First Nations. 8 Engagement of Indigenous people in exhibitions and other media representations is not a new phenomenon. The ‘Father of American Anthropology’ Franz Boas consulted with George Hunt and other Kwakiutl collaborators on their presentations at the 1893 World’s Columbia Exhibition (Hoerig 2010, 65), and filmmaker Robert Flaherty collaborated with an Inuit crew when shooting the documentary Nanook of the North (1922, dir. Robert Flaherty, 79 min.).

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(1969) Ladder of Citizen Participation. Developed from her work in community development, the model has been used in many disciplines. Arnstein designed a typology of eight levels of participation, arranged in a ladder pattern with each rung corresponding to the extent of citizens’ power, which are divided into three main levels of participation: non-participation, tokenism and citizen power (Fig. 3.1). While being a simplification, the ladder illustrates the idea “that there are significant gradations of citizen participation” (217) and, thus, helps to demonstrate the power dynamics between groups: [t]he ladder juxtaposes powerless citizens with the powerful in order to highlight the fundamental divisions between them. In actuality, neither the have-nots nor the powerholders are homogeneous blocs. Each group encompasses a host of divergent points of view, significant cleavages, competing vested interests, and splintered subgroups. The justification for using such simplistic abstractions is that in most cases the have-nots really do perceive the powerful as a monolithic ‘system’, and powerholders actually do view the have-nots as a sea of ‘those people’, with little comprehension of the class and caste differences among them (Arnstein 1969, 217).

Corresponding to a certain extent with Arnstein’s model, environmental scientist Jules H. Pretty (1995) adapted A Typology of Participation to explain how people participate in development programs and projects. He listed seven types of participation: (1) Manipulative participation; (2) Passive participation; (3) Participation by

Fig. 3.1 Sherry Arnstein’s Ladder of Citizen Participation (1969). (Source: Arnstein 1969, 217)

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consultation; (4) Participation for material incentives; (5) Functional participation; (6) Interactive participation; and (7) Self-mobilization. While people from types 1 to 4 participate only by being present, being consulted or by contributing resources, type 5 people participate by forming groups to meet predetermined objectives. Only in types 6 and 7 is people’s participation “seen as a right, not just the means to achieve project goals” (ibid., 1252) and people take initiatives independently of external institutions, given that governments and organizations provide an enabling framework of support. Such self-initiated mobilization may challenge existing distributions of power, as groups take control over local decisions and determine how available resources are used and have a stake in maintaining structures or practices). Focusing on heritage engagement, Amareswar Galla (1997) suggested another approach and described three ‘models’ of interaction between museums and Indigenous peoples that he placed side by side. The first model is defined by consultation as participation, which generally ends once sufficient information has been acquired through consultation. At this level, “heritage communication is a one-way process, where the external agency is empowered with the expertise and, with time, the Indigenous community is disempowered of its authority on the relevant knowledge” (Galla 1997, 140). Galla sees this as a commonly practiced model, which “needs to be modified to be more participatory and less exploitative” (ibid.).9 The second model conveys participation as a ‘strategic partnership’, where projects are initiated either by Indigenous community specialists or external anthropologists, and Indigenous people are co-workers in project development and outcomes. In this case, “community involvement is ongoing from the initial planning to project development, implementation and evaluation” and “shared decision making underpins the partnership” (ibid., 151). Galla sees this approach as “mutually empowering, with heritage communication between and among all participants” (ibid., 141). The third model is characterized by Indigenous community cultural action. In this case, projects are initiated and controlled by community cultural specialists. This level “provides a voice for Indigenous community cultural leadership and cultural reclamation” (ibid., 152). It “enables the continuity and adaptation of cultures from generation to generation with the strengthening of community cultural selfesteem. Through such community cultural action and self-empowerment, Indigenous people are able to continue on the mainstream of emerging post-colonial societies” (ibid., 141).10 There are many other typologies and models of participation. White’s model of Interests in Participation (1996) makes a distinction between nominal, instrumental, representative and transformative participation, recognizing that participation and non-participation always reflect interests and therefore are political issues. He states Examples of this first stage of participation with Indigenous communities might be the Buffalo Nations Luxton Museum in Banff, Alberta, and the North America exhibitions at the Museum am Rothenbaum: Kulturen und Künste der Welt (MARKK) in Hamburg, both visited by the author. 10 As an example, Galla (1997) lists the Woodland Cultural Centre (https:// woodlandculturalcentre.ca) in Brantford, Ontario, which is owned and run by the three Mohawk communities; see also Susemihl 2020. 9

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that empowerment comes only with transformative participation, as it is a continuing dynamic which transforms people’s reality and their sense of it. The OECD (2001) developed an Active Participation Framework that defines information, consultation and active participation in terms of the relationships between government and citizens, increasing the level of citizen involvement and influence on policy making. The International Association for Public Participation (IAP2 2007) designed a Spectrum of Public Participation, showing that differing levels of participation are legitimate and depend on the goals, time, frames, resources and levels of concern in the decisions to be made. The spectrum is essentially a matrix identifying five levels of participation, which are the stages of inform, consult, involve, collaborate and empower. In an attempt to define and encourage levels of citizen participation for community development, Davidson (1998) developed the Wheel of Participation. It is divided into four sections or quarters, starting from information through consultation and participation to empowerment, while each quarter is divided into three ‘degrees’ of achievement. Davidson claims that by using the wheel rather than Arnstein’s ladder, “problems of aiming for inappropriate levels of community empowerment can be overcome,” because “the wheel promotes the appropriate levels of community involvement to achieve clear objectives, without suggesting that the aim is always to climb to the top of the ladder” (1998, 14). As a circular model, the wheel comes closest to Indigenous models (Fig. 3.2). Applying several models to the case studies of this book, different ‘categories’ or ‘stages’ of participation and engagement can be found (see Table 3.1). At HeadSmashed-In Buffalo Jump the government used consultation, representing rung five on Arnstein’s ladder, which Galla sees as the basic level and a one-way process. At SGang Gwaay, the Haida and the government have been using Galla’s notion of strategic partnership initiated by external museum experts, which features on Arnstein’s third-highest rung, the lowest form of citizen power. Tr’ondëk-Klondike then represents an example of citizen control at the top of Arnstein’s ladder and presents Indigenous community cultural action in Galla’s model. All models have strengths and shortcomings when discussing heritage sites and people’s empowerment. While they are a formal way of categorizing community participation, the ‘realities’ of participation, i.e., the developments, communications, cooperations and power structures, are much more complex and fluid than any model can reflect. Often, “participants contribute on their own terms, rather than that of the institution, and create a collaborative, but unpredictable outcome” (Onciul 2015, 75). Besides, during the process of participation, the different levels may occur at different stages (Cornwall 2008, 273–274) between different participants and outside bodies. Furthermore, heritage sites and Indigenous communities “do not enter into engagement with a predetermined or fixed amount of power” (Onciul 2015, 75), but power “is always open to negotiation, theft, gifting and change, even in unequal power relations and ‘invited spaces’ of engagement in museums and at heritage sites (ibid; also Cornwall 2002; Lynch 2011). At any level, “power can shift and move individual participants form positions of control, to manipulation or passive observation” (ibid.). On the other hand, “even the apparently powerless are able to resist

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Fig. 3.2 Scott Davidson’s Wheel of Participation (1998). (Source: Davidson 1998, 15, as adapted in Creative Commons 2012, 8)

and counter dominant power, because power must also be seen in relation to individual actor’s agency” (ibid.). Power, following Onciul argument, is therefore not inherent or predetermined, but located within the context of interactions. Despite the fluidity of power within participation, there are structural inequalities that influence interactions between heritage sites and Indigenous communities. As has been shown in recent studies, Indigenous communities in Canada are still, on average, the most disadvantaged social and cultural group regarding income, unemployment, health, education, child welfare, housing and other forms of infrastructure (Make First Nations Poverty History Expert Advisory Committee 2009, 10). Besides, museum or heritage ‘experts’ and community representatives never meet on neutral ground, which effects power relations. Onciul observed that “discussions held within the heritage site automatically favor the museum employees as they set the ground rules for interaction within the building” (2015, 76). The first case study supports this statement. Finally, the top step of Arnstein’s ladder ‘citizen control’ does not

Therapy

Designation as WHS in 1981 Provincial decision Gwaii Haanas on Tentative List since 2004 On Tentative List since 2004 Provincial decision

Designation as WHS in 1981 Provincial decision

Nominal

Non-participation Manipulative participation

Manipulation

Source: Onciul (2015); adapted and extended by Susemihl

Tr’ondëkKlondike, YU

OECD 2001 IAP2 2007 HeadSmashedIn Buffalo Jump, AB SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas, BC

White 1996 Galla 1997

Pretty 1995

Arnstein 1969

Stages of engagement and participation

Consultation

Participation by consultation

Consultation

Hereditary Leaders have moral authority over sites, are consulted

Inform Consult Exhibitions and gallery development at Interpretive Centre; shop staff

Information

Participation

Tokenism Passive participation

Informing

Involve Blackfoot hired as drummers and dancers

Participation for material incentives Instrumental

Placation

Community cultural action

Self-mobilization

Citizen Control

Empower Interpretation by Blackfoot guides (with government script) Haida Gwaii Watchmen Program: guide and guardians, managed by the Skidegate Band Council; Exhibitions at Haida Heritage Centre and Haida Gwaii Museum

Transformative

Interactive participation

Delegated Power

Development, planning, management of WHS Ownership, management, staffing of trad. sites and Cultural Centre

Cooperative management: Archipelago Management Board (AMB)

Collaborate

Strategic partnership Active participation

Representative

Citizen power Functional participation

Partnership

3

Case studies

Models of participation

Table 3.1 Participation models and case studies

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“solve the problems of representation or relations between individuals within a community and an institution” (ibid.), because community control still “requires methods of power sharing and consensus forming” (ibid.) and internal group power relations are not addressed through the models.

3.2.2

Participation, Power and Space

Participation must be understood as a dynamic process, and its own form and function can become a focus for struggle (White 1996). Participation must also be seen as political, as there are always tensions underlying issues such as who is involved, how, and on whose terms. While participation has the potential to challenge patterns of dominance, it may also be the means through which existing power relations are entrenched and reproduced. Moreover, the arenas in which people perceive their interests and judge whether they can express them are not neutral, and there are a number of aspects that influence power relations. Besides, people may express their ideas of agency or resistance through non-participation. When literary theorist Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak raised the critical question “can the subaltern speak” (1988, 271), she argued that subalterns cannot represent themselves authentically because their subservient position in society indicates that they can only speak in terms of the dominant discourse (ibid., 308; also Alcoff 1991). The power to speak, however, is a key issue for heritage sites and museums engaging with communities. While the sites have to struggle with the challenge of acknowledging their discursive role (Onciul 2015, 80), at the same time, they recognize possible restraints of peoples’ abilities to speak for themselves and their ability to create counter narratives. These efforts require critical reflection and cautious communication between the museum staff and the community, which “places heavy demands” upon staff members’ skills (ibid.), as the first case study shows. A different perspective on subaltern agency and their ability to speak is presented by Conal McCarthy (2007). In a project on Māori in New Zealand, he shows that although museums have undertaken official consultation only recently, Māori sought to influence the way they are represented since the Europeans began exhibiting their material culture in museums. Considering different forms of power, agency and influence throughout the history of Māori relations with museums, he showed that they always applied agency. Spivak and McCarthy both make convincing arguments, as colonized people are subjective to the dominant society, but at the same time have the agency to resist, protest and contradict the dominant discourse (Onciul 2015, 80). Mary Pratt describes this framed agency as ‘autoethnograhy’, a process “in which people undertake to describe themselves in ways that engage with representations others have made of them” (1991, 35). While Indigenous people can critically engage with and respond to stereotypes and misrepresentations, their responses need to be heard and seen.

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In her work on the ‘Indigenization’ of Canadian museums, Ruth B. Phillips (2011) draws on Michel Callon’s and Bruno Latour’s Actor Network Theory (ANT)11 to argue for the vital agency of museums as key players in movements for effective social change and the value of public controversies for spurring positive developments in institutional policy and protocol. While museums have for a long time been a tool of colonial and imperialist ideology, Phillips promotes the postmodern museum as an agent and mediator of renegotiated postcolonial relationships. She presents the museum as both supporter and recipient of changing government attitudes toward Indigenous peoples, and proposes that ANT can help to bring Western academics and museums closer to an understanding of Indigenous epistemology. Discussing citizen participation, Cornwall explains that “any act of space-making is an act of power” (2002, 51). She argues that “the discourses of participation that give rise to the production of spaces for citizen participation [. . .] represent less a coherent set of ideas or prescriptions than constantly changing configurations of power and resistance,” referring to Foucault’s (1991) concept of ‘governmentality’ as “a constantly moving dance of domination and resistance, always in the making” (ibid.). Cornwall states: Spaces for participation are ambiguous and unpredictable. Particular spaces may be produced by the powerful, but filled with those with alternative visions whose involvement transforms their possibilities, pushing its boundaries, changing the discourse and taking control. They may be created with one purpose in mind, and used by those who engage in it for something quite different (Cornwall 2002, 51f).

Cornwall claims that all “efforts to involve citizens more directly in processes of governance are inspired [. . .] by the view that to do so makes for better citizens” and better “decisions and better government” (ibid., 49). Ways of citizen participation may be voting or voicing opinions, made available by the powerful, but also the organized struggles of the subaltern groups for rights, resources and recognition. Conventional perspectives on social and political participation restrict the possibilities for public engagement within a frame determined by external agencies, which in the heritage context again refers to the ‘authorized heritage discourse’. At heritage sites, as in any place, there are many different domains for participation. These official and unofficial spaces are not separable; “what happens in one impinges on what happens in others, as relations of power within and across them are constantly reconfigured” (Cornwall 2002, 50). Alternative discourses portray this as a process “through which oppressed people recognise and begin to use their agency,” thus occupying existing and creating new spaces (ibid., 51). The ‘spatial practices’ associated with notions like empowerment, participation and engagement 11 Developed by Michel Cullon and Bruno Latour (Latour 2005), the Actor-Network Theory (ANT) is a constructivist theoretical and methodological approach to social theory. It posits that everything in the social and natural worlds exists in constantly shifting networks of relationships, and all the factors involved in a social situation are on the same level. ANT has been employed as an analytical tool in museum studies for discussing social relationships and networks. See, for example, Hetherington 1999, Phillips 2011, and Waller 2016.

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“constitute and are constituted by particular ways of thinking about society and are in themselves acts of power” (ibid.). Cornwall asserts: Spaces created by the powerful may be discursively bounded to permit only limited citizen influence, colonising interaction and stifling dissent. While ‘rules’ of free exchange and ideals of mutual understanding inform the creation of spaces for participation, inequalities of status, class and social position are often reproduced in the very ways in which people communicate with each other within them (ibid.).

Scholars have applied different models to explore these communications, particularly with reference to Indigenous people and the heritage context.

3.2.3

Social Spaces of Clashing Cultures: Contact and Engagement Zones

Mary Louise Pratt introduced the concept of ‘contact zone’, referring to “social spaces where cultures meet, clash and grapple with each other, often in contexts of highly asymmetrical relations of power, such as colonialism, slavery, or their aftermaths as they are lived out in many parts of the world today” (1991, 34). For Pratt, the contact zone is “the space of imperial encounters, the space in which people geographically and historically separated come into contact with each other and establish relations” (Pratt 2008, 8). By using the term ‘contact’ she aimed to emphasise “the interactive, improvisational dimensions of colonial encounters so easily ignored or suppressed by diffusionist accounts of conquest and domination” (ibid., 6). The ‘contact’ perspective also helps to show “how subjects are constituted in and by their relations to each other” and “stresses co-presence, interaction, interlocking understandings and practices, often within radically asymmetrical relations of power” (ibid.). Applying Pratt’s idea of the ‘contact zone’ to a museological context, James Clifford (1997) problematized the one-way relationships between museums and Indigenous peoples. He argued that when museums are seen as ‘contact zone’ where different cultures come into contact and conflict, competing dialogues are heard, and reciprocity replaces one-way transmission and translation, “their organizing structure as a collection becomes an ongoing historical, political, moral relationship – a power-charged set of exchanges, of push and pull” (Clifford 1997, 192–193). Clifford’s intention was to challenge the relationship, which is normally perceived as a one-sided imperialist appropriation, and he proposed instead that the museum can become a space which benefits both it and the cultures whose artifacts it shows, emphasising the potential for agency in asymmetrical power relations. Clifford’s application of Pratt’s notion of ‘contact zones’ to a museological context in order to argue for museums as “contentious and collaborative relations and interactions” (Schorch 2013, 68) has been extensively debated. Boast, for example, criticizes the ‘contact zone’ as neo-colonial, stating that the contact zone is “a consultation that is designed from the outset to appropriate the resources

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necessary for the academy and to be silent about those that are not necessary” (2011, 66). His solution for museums is to “learn to let go of their resources [. . .] for the benefit and use of communities and agendas far beyond its knowledge and control” (ibid., 67). Tony Bennett also views the concept at odds with a museum discourse concerning agency and governmentality. He writes: In place of the language of education, instructions and civic reform, Clifford envisages the museum as a place in which diverse communities might enter into exchange with one another, with museums playing the role of mediator, a facilitator of multiple dialogic exchanges governed by relations of uneven reciprocity, rather than acting as an agent in its own right in pursuit of its own civic or educative programmes (Bennett 1998, 211).

While Clifford’s conceptual vision has been critiqued as being “merely a reconstruction of the reformist agenda and citizenry technology of the state” (Schorch 2013, 68), research has shown that “a museum can function as a site where a complex web of demands and articulations is expressed, negotiated and contested” (ibid.; also McCarthy 2007). Viv Golding argued that museums and collections have “the potential to function as a ‘frontier’: a zone where learning is created, new identities are forged; new connections are made between disparate groups and through own histories [. . .] to help disadvantaged groups, to raise self-esteem and even challenge racism” (2009, 4). In her opinion, the museum functions as facilitator, whilst performing educative programmes that often meet governmental social objectives. In that respect, Golding has proposed a route between the discourses, suggesting: a view of the museum frontiers – a spatio-temporal site for acting in collaborate efforts with other institutions, which provides a creative space for respectful dialogical exchange for promoting critical thought, for questioning taken-for-granted ideas in general and for challenging racist and sexist mindsets in particular [. . .] frontier museum work can progress lifelong learning, ‘intercultural understanding’ and what is known in the US as community cohesion (Golding 2009, 2).

Museums, Golding argues, “can hold up a hope for challenging racist mindsets essentially through respectful dialogical exchange” (ibid.), which she terms “feminist-hermeneutics”, which draws on Fanon’s (1967) concept of ‘authentic communication’. While all this literature looks at the issue from the perspective of museum practice, Schorch considers the ‘contact zone’ as an experience by museum visitors. By “humanizing the ‘contact zone’ through interpretive actions, movements and performances made by museum visitors, or cultural actors” (Schorch 2013, 68), he tries to “open a hermeneutic terrain of cultural negotiation and contestation” (ibid.), and argues that the process of ‘cultural world-making’ always starts with the act of interpretation. Finally, comparing Clifford’s model to the internet, Gere sees the model as “a space of exchange, negotiation and communication” (1997, 1) and describes the ‘contact zone’ as a general way to rethink the museum’s role in relation to other cultures. According to Onciul, engagement is more complex than current models can illustrate, because it is “a living, organic, ever-changing process” (2015, 86). Attempting to encapsulate the complex realities of participation in practice, she

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proposes the term ‘engagement zone’ to “conceptualize the space in which the unpredictable process of power sharing and negotiation plays out” (ibid., 78) and to “incorporate what contact zones cannot; the inter-community work that occurs in cross-cultural engagement and is prominent in community controlled grass-roots community developments” (ibid., 82). Onciul describes ‘engagement zones’ as “conceptual, physical and temporal spaces in which participants interact in an unpredictable process of power negotiations” (ibid., 72), created through engagement in which participants interact and negotiate, “where culture can be shared, in which knowledge can be temporarily and/or permanently interpreted and translated, in which boundaries blur and that can be Indigenized and created on its own culturally specific terms” (ibid., 83). Her ‘engagement zone’ [. . .] includes the spectrum of engagement approaches from tokenism to community control and emphasizes the agency of participants and potential for power fluctuations, despite common inequalities of power relations. It allows for consideration and exploration of culture and heritage prior to and beyond the experience of colonialism. The term enables internal community engagement and indigenization of the process, distinct from contact work (ibid., 82)

In her model, ‘contact zones’ can occur within ‘engagement zones’, and ‘engagement zones’ produce outputs such as exhibits that become public ‘contact zones’. ‘Engagement zones’ can also occur without being ‘contact zones’, for example, within inter-community engagements. In a diagram, Onciul shows the input of individuals from the museum and the community into an ‘engagement zone’ and the output of potential products of engagement works such as adaptation of curatorial practice, community participation or influence on advisory boards, co-produced exhibits and programmes and the employment of community members (ibid., 82–83; see Fig. 3.3). In her work on four Blackfoot museums, Onciul adapts her model to different scenarios, illustrating that the “individual participants in the engagement between the museum and community are at the heart of the engagement zone” (ibid., 85). If participants change, so do the parameters of the zone and the interaction within it, as it is a “temporary, movable, flexible and living space of exchange” (ibid.). These ‘inbetween’ spaces (Bhabha 1994, 2) that are semi-private semi-public are places where culture can be shared and discussed. However, as a ‘zone’ is defined as “an area or stretch of land having a particular characteristic, purpose, or use, or subjects to particular restrictions” (Lexico.com 2020), there are always restrictions, boundaries and/or limits implied. The focus on community control as the best option in the models obscures the fact that community members still have to consult with their community which will not automatically empower all community members. In current museology, community participation and engagement is presented “as a positive, mutually beneficial way to improve and democratise representation” (Onciul 2015, 71). In practice, however, there are many forms of participation and engagement, “each with different advantages and challenges, none of which solve the problems associated with representing complex, multifaceted communities” (ibid.). Despite the positive assumptions, engagement has the potential to be both beneficial and detrimental. Onciul states:

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Fig. 3.3 Bryony Onciul’s Engagement Zone Diagram (2015). (Source: Onciul 2015, 103)

Whilst being a worthy pursuit, there are limits to what engagement can achieve within current museological practice and engagement does not automatically grant integrity or validity to museum exhibits. Engagement has real consequences for the community and should only be entered into genuinely and with sufficient time and resources to honour community contributions (2015, 71–72).

An Indigenous view on participation and engagement seems, therefore, inevitable for further considerations in terms of community participation and empowerment.

3.3

Building Community Capacity: Indigenous Models and Strategies

When considering the management and use of Indigenous heritage, Indigenous models need to be considered. Applying mainstream capacity building models and processes to Indigenous communities can be difficult, as they often pay little attention to the specific social, cultural, historical and political environment and to the time needed to build effective working relationships. Furthermore, as Chino and DeBruyn state, “the pressure to show success in tribal programs often outweighs recognition of what may have led to previous failures – the lack of sufficient time to build trust, effective communication between all participants, and inclusive working relationships” (2006, 597). Indigenous models, on the other hand, can bring

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Indigenous people and non-Indigenous partners together “by offering a relevant, meaningful framework where cultural and institutional barriers fade” (ibid., 599). Models and guiding principles can be applied to processes or programs with an orientation towards local issues. They must reflect Indigenous reality, consider resources and challenges, incorporate the past, the present and the people’s vision for the future and “allow communities to build a commitment to identifying and resolving their own concerns and issues” (ibid.). While capacity building processes are often a difficult concept for tribal communities to embrace when faced with substantial immediate need, they may be considered within a heritage context as they incorporate Indigenous views on empowerment and capacity building.

3.3.1

Integrated and Bi-cultural Engagement Models

Within the past decades, many cooperative and bi-cultural models have been developed, incorporating Indigenous worldviews and Western science, a few of which shall be briefly looked at. In Australia and New Zealand, a team of Māori, Aboriginal and non-Indigenous researchers developed bi-cultural engagement models that highlight key cultural principles and values widely recognized by Indigenous communities to help maintain and retain knowledge, empowerment and ownership in their communities. They designed the models by drawing parallels between the stages and principles of karaka and mirrwanna seed processing and the essential steps and principles of effective community engagement. The models include the rationale for each step and the underpinning values in Māori and Aboriginal culture, namely customs and protocols, empowerment, leadership and authority, hospitality, guardianship, trust and relationships, discipline and expertise, respect and partnership (Marsh et al. 2016, 2018). These models have found broad application when engaging Indigenous and other stakeholders, offering agencies a consistent and inclusive approach to Indigenous issues. In Australia, the Kuuku I’yu Northern Kaanju of the Cape York Peninsula have formed the Chuulangun Aboriginal Corporation for sustainable development of their homelands. They have established a comprehensive land management framework, a Model for Sustainable Natural Resource Management, and their management plans are guided by ancient principles of governance and land, outlining four land management aspects that are (1) homeland development, (2) land and resources management, (3) Indigenous knowledge, language and research, and (4) economic development, employment, training and capacity building. These four aspects work together to ensure the sustainability of the land and the spiritual, social and economic wellbeing of the people (Chuulangun Aboriginal Corporation 2015). Another ‘Integrated Model’ was designed by Kiedrowski (2013) to address social challenges in Indigenous communities. He uses a Venn diagram that consists of overlapping spheres. Within the wider sphere representing the given preconditions that include community members, resources and capacity, there are four spheres representing (1) facilities to allow for agencies working in Indigenous communities

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to improve communications, share information and save on resources, (2) partnership agreements, (3) agencies in communities, and (4) specialized training. Further key elements are roles and responsibilities, Indigenous culture and tradition, community leaders and Memorandums of Understanding. Performance indicators are shared information, community needs, trust – which involves taking time to learn Indigenous history and develop personal relationships with community – and empowerment. Additional factors are the location of the Indigenous communities (urban versus remote), the involvement of communities and built capacity. Applying Kiedrowski’s model to the heritage sector, this integrated model can be incorporated as an overview of heritage management strategies and community involvement, including heritage performance indicators. Within the educational sector, Brendtro, Brokenleg and Van Bockern (1990, 2013) blended the findings of major resilience and self-esteem studies with traditional methods of child rearing to propose a strengths-based approach to supporting children and young people, calling it the Circle of Courage.12 Based on the four basic components of belonging, mastery, independence and generosity, the Circle of Courage philosophy is compatible with Indigenous values and beliefs as well as of cultures “where the central purpose of life is the education and empowerment of children” (Brendtro et al. 1990). It provides a blueprint for helping children and youth at risk and restoring bonds of respect in schools and communities. Having found its way into many educational institutions and schools throughout Canada, the model includes fundamental values of Indigenous people that are also of value within the management and use of Indigenous heritage.

3.3.2

Sacred Circles: The Medicine Wheel Paradigm

Sacred circles or medicine wheels – also referred to as Circles of Life or Sacred Hoop – have been used by generations of different Native American tribes for health and healing. The Circle of Life and the inter-connectivity of all beings is the fundamental worldview of many Indigenous people. The model is based in traditional Indigenous philosophy and belief systems and is a metaphor for a variety of spiritual concepts.13 It symbolizes the universe and represents all that is. Anishinaabe scholar James Dumont (1989) notes that it is the very essence of being Anishinaabe and the foundation of Anishinaabe cultural and spiritual codes:

12 The Circle of Courage has been applied in education by numerous schools throughout Canada, Australia and New Zealand, as for instance at Saskatoon Public Schools (see their homepage, www. saskatoonpublicschools.ca). 13 Many modern, non-Indigenous interpretations of the medicine wheel-paradigm are far removed from the original meaning of the concept as used by Indigenous peoples, but can still have a useful function. It has especially been a rich source of ideas regarding human psychology and health (Swanson 2013).

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The circle, being primary, influences how we as Aboriginal peoples view the world. In the process of how life evolves, how the natural world grows and works together, how all things are connected, and how all things move toward their destiny. Aboriginal peoples see and respond to the world in a circular fashion and are influenced by the examples of the circles of creation in our environment (Dumont 1989, 48).

Heháka Sápa (Black Elk), wičháša wakháŋ (medicine man) of the Oglala Lakota, expresses this concept in a powerful way: [. . .] everything an Indian does is in a circle, and that is because the Power of the World always works in circles, and everything tries to be round. [. . .] The sky is round, and I have heard that the earth is round like a ball, and so are all the stars. The wind, in its greatest power, whirls. [. . .] The sun comes forth and goes down again in a circle. The moon does the same, and both are round. Even the seasons form a great circle in their changing, and always come back again to where they were. The life of a man is a circle from childhood to childhood, and so it is in everything where power moves (Black Elk, quoted in Neihardt 1988, 194–195).

The distinct pattern of a medicine wheel14 consists of a circular rim with spokes radiating out from the center of the circle. The four quadrants of the wheel represent different aspects of nature and human nature, the four directions, the four elements and the four aspects of the self, i.e., the physical, mental or intellectual, spiritual and emotional as well as their alignment and continuous interaction of these realities. It represents the interconnectivity of all aspects of one’s being, including the connection with the natural world. The center of the wheel can be seen as representing the unitary self, while the spokes reach outward to other people and the rest of the world. Each direction represents gifts that people were given by the Creator (Partridge 2010, 37). The medicine wheel can take on different forms, such as, for example, an artwork or a physical construction on the land. There are different theories for the use of medicine wheels, and different tribes and individuals interpret it differently.15 Hence, the order of the colours differs in various cultures, as well as the attributes. It is common, though, to relate each of the four quarters or directions of the wheel to seasons, colours, stages of life (birth, youth, adult/Elder, death), aspects of life (spiritual, emotional, intellectual, physical), elements of nature (fire, air, water, earth), animals (eagle, bear, wolf, buffalo and others) or ceremonial plants (tobacco, sweet grass, sage, cedar) (Joseph 2020;

The term ‘medicine wheel’ was first coined in reference to the Big Horn Medicine Wheel in Wyoming, an archaeological site that consists of a central cairn or rock pile surrounded by a circle of stones and lines of cobbles linking the central cairn and the surrounding circle. The ‘medicine’ part of the name implies that it was of religious significance to Indigenous peoples. Stone medicine wheels have been dated to 5000 BC. For further reference see Brumley 1983, 1988, 2006; Grinnell 1922; Pard et al. 2016. 15 In 2011, I accompanied Blackfoot historian Stan Knowlton explore the remains of a huge ancient stone circle near Fort McLeod in the middle of the prairie that was destroyed decades ago. He explained that there are significant stellar alignments presented on the medicine wheels – a theory that was also proposed by astronomer John Eddy. Knowlton explained that wheels functioned as calendars and were, presumably, used for the timing of important rituals (Personal communication with Stan Knowlton 2011). 14

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Nabigon 1993; NLM n.d.; Partridge 2010).16 The inner circle or centre is usually given the attributes of learning, self, balance and beauty. As a powerful reflective tool, the concept has been applied to education, healing, personal development and historical development of Indigenous people from traditional times until today. Writing about intergenerational impacts of residential schools on Indigenous people, Anishinaabe scholar Cheryle Partridge from the Wasauksing First Nation utilizes the medicine wheel paradigm to give the reader the worldview of her as an AnishinaabeKwe woman writer: The circle, more than any other symbol, is most expressive of the Aboriginal world-view. [. . .] Within creation, all life maintains and operates within this circular and cyclical pattern. The circle then is primal to all of life and process and is also of primary significance in relating to and understanding life itself in all its dimensions and diversity. Human beings, amongst other related beings, are in harmony with the life flow and grow to their greatest fulfillment when they too operate in a circular fashion, thereby strengthening the circle (Partridge 2010, 37–38).

The tool has also been important in the empowerment and capacity building of Indigenous people (Nabigon 2003). It represents and symbolizes many different though interrelated psychological and sociological concepts such as growth, learning, change and understanding, the building of trust, mutual respect and determination, self-sufficiency, reflection, perseverance, a building of inner strength, the sharing of resources, responsibilities and spirit, wisdom, spirituality and healing. The model helps to understand complex situations, develop leadership and foster community development (Bopp et al. 1985; Nabigon 1993, 2003; Partridge 2010; Swanson 2013).17

3.3.3

GONA and the CIRCLE Model

The paradigm and teaching of the medicine wheel has been applied in traditional and modern Indigenous teaching and healing practices. One strategy that has been recognized as an effective culture-based intervention is GONA, a ‘road map’ for a journey of healing and transformation of Indigenous communities. Developed in 1992 by Indigenous professionals, the Gathering of Native Americans (GONA) curriculum was to provide training that offered encouragement, skills transfer and a positive basis for Indigenous community action based on values inherent in traditional Indigenous cultures. The curriculum laid the groundwork for community advocacy and development on Indigenous terms, in Indigenous ways, for Indigenous 16

For information on the most common representations of the four quadrants or aspects, see Joseph 2020, Nabigon 1993, Partridge 2010, and Swanson 2013, among others. 17 A few years ago, I participated in an Elder’s Teaching of the West-Ceremony at the Dodem Kanonhsa (‘Clan Lodge’) at Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development Canada’s Ontario Regional Office in Toronto. Dodem is an Anishinabe (Ojibwe) word meaning ‘Clan’, and Kanonhsa’ is Kenienkeha (Mohawk) meaning ‘Lodge’.

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people. It is as much about healing the past as it is about building the future (Chino and DeBruyn 2006; Minkler and Wallerstein 2003; SAMHSA 2015). From the GONA model the CIRCLE model18 was developed, a four-step, cyclical, iterative process and philosophy for program design and community development for Indigenous people – CIRCLE standing for Community Involvement to Renew Commitment, Leadership and Effectiveness. Incorporating Western concepts of community capacity building and paralleling the values of communitybased participatory research, the CIRCLE process “posits that, as personal and professional relationships develop, they lead to the development of individual and group skills” that in turn “lead to effective working partnerships, ultimately promoting a commitment to the issue, the group, and the process” (Chino and DeBruyn 2006, 598). Rooted in Indigenous ideology, this model “exemplifies the type of capacity-building framework that can work well in tribal communities” (ibid.). The four steps of the process embrace: (1) building relationships, honoring the concept of ‘belonging’; (2) building skills, honoring the concept of ‘mastery’; (3) working together, honoring the concept of ‘interdependence’; and (4) promoting commitment, honoring the concept of ‘generosity’ (ibid.). Many of these elements are recognized by the Western scientific community and parallel other capacity-building models. Chino and DeBruyn (2006) claim that what makes this model different is the focus on relationship building, which is an essential process in tribal communities and deeply embedded in Indigenous history and culture. This process also “allows for creative skills development and individual strengths and interests” (ibid.). The model has been practically applied in many Indigenous communities. Usually, Indigenous models work from the bottom up, “reversing the top-down application of Western science” to issues which often result in programs that are “community placed,” rather than “community based”, claim Chino and DeBruyn (2006, 599). They state: Capacity building for Indigenous people needs to go beyond ‘action planning’ and ‘engaging leadership’, concepts that are often the first steps in Western models. Before Indigenous people can effectively engage in building healthier communities, the wounds caused by colonization, historical trauma, racism, and disparities in health, education, and living conditions need to be acknowledged, treated, and healed. There needs to be a positive collective identity, with trust for each other and for the process. A mechanism is needed for building the essential skills the Western scientific community may take for granted and, conversely, for educating the Western scientific community about Native science and Indigenous ‘ways of knowing’ (ibid., 598–599).

By using an Indigenously developed model, “the common and often unconscious tendency of public officials and politicians worldwide to use images and stereotypes of ‘culture’ to deflect blame away from inadequate policies” and institutions and “onto oppressed people themselves” can be avoided (ibid.). Social inadequacies need to be faced honestly, viewing social disparities “as a failure of institutional 18

The CIRCLE model was developed by the Indigenous health and research professionals Joyce Naseyowma, Michelle Chino, and Connie Garcia, using their experience as GONA facilitators (Chino and DeBruyn 2006).

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systems, policies, and perspectives rather than the fault of the victims of those disparities” (ibid.). Briggs and Mantini-Briggs aptly state: We must challenge the objectification of images of social inequality in epidemiology, demography, and social science. We must insist on keeping images of inequality closely linked to the social, political and historical circumstances in which they were produced. [. . .] Insight into the way that this process works to the detriment of all parties can help persons on the privileged side of a social divide be more responsible to those on the other side who are struggling to overcome structural violence and achieve social justice (Briggs and MantiniBriggs 2003, 327).

Finding a balance between what works for communities and what is acceptable to outside sources is a constant challenge. Community members need to focus on processes that engage communities on their own terms, make use of individual skills and collective assets, and focus on issues unique to Indigenous people (Chino and DeBruyn 2006, 597). As Indigenous people strive to preserve a balance both in nature and life, capacity building models need to reflect frameworks that allow for a continuum of interrelated stages to achieve communal harmony and stabilize their issues, as Chino and DeBruyn state: A tribal capacity-building model must [. . .] transcend the tendencies of the Western scientific community to adhere to a more linear, static, time-oriented format, which is likely to impede community involvement and discourage tribal ownership. Rather, it must establish a participatory process where mutual learning is taking place [. . .] and repair lines of trust between non-indigenous researchers and tribal communities. At the same time, however, the model must incorporate strategies for non-Native partners to raise their awareness of tribal sovereignty and community issues, ensure adherence to appropriate tribal guidelines and protocols, and become effective allies of indigenous people (Chino and DeBruyn 2006, 597).

Such a model must apply Indigenous thought, perspective and ownership. Although the work in hand is taken from a non-Indigenous perspective, it tries to take into account Indigenous worldviews and concepts of relationship building. Applications of Indigenous thoughts and guiding principles will, for example, be explored at Haida Gwaii with the analysis of current management structures of Gwaii Haanas. In terms of heritage management, Indigenous models need to be applied. Lately, there have been a growing number of decentralized approaches to environmental management that offer opportunities for the integration of traditional Indigenous knowledge and Western science to promote cultural diversity in the management of heritage sites and social-ecological system sustainability. Nevertheless, processes combining both approaches are diverse and affected by numerous factors, including the co-management context, the intrinsic characteristics of the natural resources and the governance systems. Internationally, different forms of Indigenous engagement in environmental management have been explored. For example, Hill et al. (2012) have identified the aspects of power sharing (including decision making, rules definition, resource values and property rights), participation and intercultural principles of environmental management and Indigenous capacity building that need to be considered. They grouped engagement into four types: Indigenous governed collaborations, Indigenous-driven co-governance, agency-driven co-governance and agency

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governance. Analysing the manifestations of knowledge integration within the management, they argue that Indigenous governance and Indigenous-driven co-governance provide the best prospects for the integration of traditional knowledge and Western science for sustainability of social-ecological systems. The scope and complexity of Indigenous worldviews and traditional knowledge required for heritage management and use and for Indigenous capacity building and community development shall be explored in the next section.

3.4

Connections and Constellations: Indigenous Knowledge, Worldviews, Heritage

Indigenous cultures have their own knowledge systems and means of knowledge transmission. Their perceptions of the environment and the personal knowledge of Elders and storytellers provide insights and understandings available only through traditional knowledge. Commonly, Indigenous peoples approach history not primarily through Western constructs of causal relationship, record and time sequence, but through cosmology, narrative and place. Places of power are, thus, approached through rules of conduct, customs, rituals and ceremonies. When analyzing Indigenous heritage sites in terms of their uses, Indigenous knowledge and worldviews have to be considered. These aspects inform knowledge making, influence Indigenous discourses of heritage and effect management strategies. While traditional knowledge has been increasingly acknowledged by Western heritage organizations and professionals, it has still not been given as much weight as Western ‘professional’ knowledge.

3.4.1

Indigenous Cosmologies and Worldviews

In order to identify the values of Indigenous cultural landscapes and to interpret, commemorate and preserve these places within the heritage sector, identification and evaluation have to focus on Indigenous worldviews rather than on those of non-Indigenous cultures of Western civilization and Western scientific tradition. The orientations of the Indigenous and Western cultural constructs differ fundamentally, one being “rooted in experiential interrelationship with the land and the other in objectification and rationalism” (Buggey 1999, 2). An Indigenous worldview encompasses the idea, picture or vision they have of their immediate surrounding as well as of the universe and everything in it. It means an understanding of how the many things that exist are related to one another and their system of values and includes people’s beliefs about how they should act toward one another, toward other beings and toward themselves. It also encompasses judgments of what is ‘good’ or ‘bad’. While ‘culture’ refers to the identity, beliefs, values and customs of the group, ‘worldview’ is the core of culture, referring to the lens a person uses to see the world (McClellan et al. 1987, 250).

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Indigenous worldviews are inherently based on a holistic view, whereas Western scientific perspectives tend to break things into parts in an attempt to understand them. While many cultures around the world, including many people in ‘mainstream’ Canada, also view the world holistically, there are differences. An Indigenous worldview recognizes extensive interconnections and does not consider a single artifact or species as existing without complex relationships, which form the foundation of a distinct ‘way of knowing’. Through stories and relationships with all beings, Indigenous knowledge is produced and rooted in the land. For Indigenous people, being knowledgeable and being of the land are one and the same (Basso 1996; Davis 2009; Legat 2012). This perspective places cultural resources within “a contextualized mosaic of a landscape” (Ball et al. 2017, 6). To understand the Indigenous view of and relation to landscape and heritage requires an understanding of the related cosmologies and perceptions of power and place. Indigenous cosmologies relate earth, sky, land and water, seasons, directions and ‘mythic transformers’19 to lands that they have occupied since times immemorial. This “intensity of relationship to the land is based in cosmological and mythological paradigms of experience with the land over centuries” (Buggey 1999, 5). Laws and gifts from spirit beings and culture heroes shaped peoples cultures and daily activities. Creation stories, guided by cosmological relationships, are related to people’s homelands, dating their presence in specific places to times when spirit beings traversed the world, created their ancestors and shaped the landscape. Stories also emphasize the distinct relationship between people, the flora and fauna, and the environment and geography. In Blackfoot stories, for example, Old Man Napi connects people to events from time immemorial that occurred within the landscape, and in Haida stories the trickster figure of Raven features prominently as a creator of people and places. As Indigenous worldviews and ‘religion’ tolerated relatively individualistic beliefs, members of the community sought direct personal relationships to spiritual forces, thereby maintaining a collective, evolving knowledge base within the framework of broad local traditions. Indigenous worldviews and religion were also part of everyday activities such as hunting and travel (Buggey 1999; Dormaar and Barsh 2000). Scholars have discussed cyclical versus linear worldviews for some time (e.g., Dundes 2004; Lee 1950).20 In his studies of heritage and in dealing with mental landscapes hinging on cyclical assumptions, Francisco G. Vaz da Silva points out that

19

Mythic transformers are spirit beings such as raven or coyote that have helped change the world and are often strongly connected to specific places (Buggey 1999, 6). 20 Anthropologist Alan Dundes points out that Western cultures tend to view issues through a lens of a combination of ‘straight’ and ‘square’ lines. People value issues facing them in ‘line’, by means of ‘straightforward’ arguments, since “square signals fairness and honesty,” while they mistrust “circular reasoning.” He notes that an emphasis on thinking “logically, that is, lineally,” causes “repeated failure” in understanding the outlook of traditional cultures (Dundes 2004, 171–172, 184–185). Cultural anthropologist Dorothy D. Lee alluded to the Western propensity toward codifying reality in lineal terms, concluding that “much of our present-day thinking, and much of our evaluation are based on the premise of the line and of the line as good” (Lee 1950, 96).

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a “cyclical worldview is more than a topic – it is a frame of mind endowed with specific properties” (2008, 163). The Aleut environmentalist Harion Merculieff (1994) posits that the linear bias of Western society causes problems in the repeated failure to understand the cyclical worldview systems of many Indigenous societies. Circular forms can be found repeatedly in Indigenous cultures, as symbols or social forms (Walker 1917), as in the form of traditional dwellings and in ceremonies such as the Sun Dance (Wissler 1918), and feature prominently in modern Indigenous art.21

3.4.2

The Importance of Traditional Knowledge

Traditional knowledge and traditional environmental/ecological knowledge (TEK) have continuously been identified as the key sources for understanding and recognizing the values of place to Indigenous people.22 Rooted in the traditional way of life of Indigenous people, traditional knowledge is the accumulated knowledge, understandings, values and beliefs which have been acquired through experience in living with the land for centuries, through observation from the land or from spiritual teachings, transmitted through oral tradition and handed down from one generation to the next. It encompasses spiritual relationships, relationships with the natural environment as well as the use of natural resources, and relationships between people, and is reflected in language, social organization, values, institutions and laws (Abele 1997; Johnson 1992). It is not static, but responds to change through absorbing new information and adapting to its implications (Anderson 2010). The skills inherent in living on and with the land, such as observation, interpretation and adaptation, are related to continuing practice through traditional lifeways and traditional knowledge. Traditional ecological knowledge also includes a system of classification, a set of empirical observations about the local environment and a system of self-management that governs resource use. Ecological aspects are, thus, closely tied to social and spiritual aspects of the knowledge system. Recently, the validity of Indigenous oral tradition has become better understood in Canada, most specifically as a result of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples (RCAP).23 Scholarly analysis based on the methodologies of archaeology,

See, for example, the exhibition “Expanding the Circle: Robert Davidson and the Ancient Language of Haida Art” at the Art Gallery of Hamilton, 2017: https://www.artgalleryofhamilton. com/exhibition/expanding-the-circle-robert-davidson-and-the-ancient-language-of-haida-art/ [accessed 26 November 2020]. 22 In 1994, the Government of the Northwest Territories was the first jurisdiction to assign traditional knowledge a formal role in policy (Abele 1997, iii). For definitions of traditional knowledge see also Stevenson 1996, 281). 23 There is dispute about whether Indigenous populations hold an intellectual property right over traditional knowledge and whether use of this knowledge requires prior permission and license, which is complicated because TEK is generally preserved as oral tradition (Anderson 2010; Simeone 2004; Tsuji and Ho 2002). 21

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history, ethnography and related disciplines can contribute to the identification of values but does not play the lead role as in past cultural resource management practice. Lately, TEK has been used in court cases and applied in administration.24 Scientific acceptance of TEK in the natural resource conservation community by such organizations as the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) has also emphasized its role (Buggey 1999, 3), and it has started to play a part in heritage management and conservation. Indeed, States Parties and UN agencies have been recognizing that the knowledge relating to sustainable economic development is encoded in the cultural practices and traditional teachings of Indigenous peoples. Traditional knowledge can, for example, be seen as “the vehicle for the transmission of critical information relating to the propagation of food and medicinal plants and the wise and sustainable use of the earth’s resources which all people rely on” (Saami Council 2008, 2). While this understanding on the part of states and UN systems may be considered long overdue, it has also “fuelled an international effort to misappropriate the cultural heritage, traditional knowledge and biological resources of Indigenous peoples and cultures globally” (ibid.). Indeed, for the past decade there has been an increasing dialogue among Indigenous and non-Indigenous researchers about Indigenous approaches to knowledge that contrast with Western ‘ways of knowing’.25 These concepts go beyond cultural competence and partnerships between Western institutions and Indigenous community groups to what Labonte (2012, 108) called the ‘transformation of power relations’ and to creating frameworks based on community values and Indigenous perspectives not typically included in Western models.26 Furthermore, Indigenous scholars have been engaging in Western academic discourses and transmitting TEK.27 Cajete (2000), for example, defined models that go beyond objective measures and honor the importance of direct experience, interconnectedness, relationship and value. Smith (2012) describes an Indigenous research agenda based on Indigenous-centered priorities, linking self-determination with decolonization, healing, mobilization and transformation, which suggests that Indigenous people not only take charge of their own agenda but also name the processes and employ methodologies that fit Indigenous framing of place, community, values and culture. 24

While older court cases dismissed Indigenous oral discourse and witness testimony tradition as valid evidence of the intimate relationship between culture and land in support of their land claims (e.g., Apsassin vs The Queen, 1987; Delgamuukw vs The Queen, 1991; see Buggey 1999; Cruikshank 1994), newer court cases have accepted traditional knowledge as valid evidence (e.g., Delgamuukw vs The Queen, 1997; see also Freeman 1976). 25 For discussions of Indigenous versus ‘other’ knowledge discourses see, among others, Chino and DeBruyn 2006; Christensen 2002; Deloria 1999; Duran 1996; Garroutte 2003; LaFrance 2004; Tsuji and Ho 2002. 26 For studies on North American Indigenous peoples’ TEK see Barlow and Stone 2005; Borrero 2009; Cruikshank 2006; Gilliland 2009; Hobson 1992; Houde 2007; Hunter 2004; Johnson 1992; King 2004; Knopf 2015, 2018; McGregor 2004; Nadasdy 1999, 2003; Nelson and Shilling 2018; and Trosper 2009. 27 Indigenous scholars who have written on TEK are, among others, Armstrong 2009; Atleo 2004, 2011; Cajete 2000; Gon III 2003; and Griffin and Spanjer 2008.

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Studies have manifested Indigenous concerns about misinterpretation, appropriation and misuse of their “intellectual property” (Stevenson 1996, 279), helping to foster an understanding that wealth is indicated by knowledge, skills and social behavior, not material goods (Davis 2009). Moreover, Indigenous peoples of Canada have been active in negotiating natural resources co-management arrangements that gives them greater involvement in decision-making processes that are closer to their values and worldviews. In that regard, Houde (2007) identifies six ‘faces’ of TEK, i.e., factual observations, management systems, past and current land uses, ethics and values, culture and identity, and cosmology, as well as the particular challenges and opportunities that each ‘face’ poses to the co-management of natural resources. To reach agreements, appropriate ways to involve TEK in decision-making processes need to be designed.

3.4.3

A Sense of Place: Narratives and Naming

Traditional knowledge has also been of great importance for the understanding of the culture and history of Indigenous peoples and for understanding their approaches to heritage. It points to the qualities for which Indigenous people value the land and relates contemporary Indigenous cultures directly to specific places. For Indigenous people, identity is connected to place and land; to know who they are, they have to have a place to come from. Basso states: The people’s sense of place, their sense of their tribal past, and their vibrant sense of themselves are inseparably intertwined. Their identity has persisted. Their ancestors saw to this, and in the country of the past, where the ancestors come alive in resonating placeworlds, they do so still today. Their voices are strong and firm – and sometimes it is unclear who is quoting whom (Basso 1996, 35).

Indeed, Indigenous people and lands are intimately interconnected. In discussing the connection between tribal peoples and their lands, Vine Deloria, Jr., states that “every location within [each tribe’s] original homelands has a multitude of stories that recount the migrations, revelations, and particular historical incidents that cumulatively produced the tribe in its current condition” (1994, 122). Indigenous people “hold their lands – places – as having the highest possible meaning, and all their statements are made with this reference in mind” (ibid., 62). A place is, thus, not only connected to the history of the people who have been using the place and landscape, but to people’s thoughts, values and to a sense of belonging, as Basso (1996, xiii) argues, and therefore shapes identities that have continued within resilient, but continually changing and adapting cultures. The locations of sacred sites and other places of importance are recorded by traditional narratives. Thus, knowledge of these places is passed from one generation to the next through narratives, instructional travel and place names, as Buggey states:

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Narratives and place names bequeathed from generation to generation relate spiritual associations directly to the land. Traditional life, rooted in intimate knowledge of the natural environment, focussed on seasonal movement, patterned by movements of animals, marine resources and the hunt. Kinship, social relationships, and reciprocal obligations linked people in this complex round sustained for centuries. The inter-connectedness of all aspects of human life with the living landscape – in social and spiritual relationships as much as in harvesting – continuously over time roots Aboriginal cultures in the land (1999, 12).

Narratives actually create a mosaic of stories that envelop the cultural landscapes. This web of myth and memory spread beyond the landscape illustrates the complexity of the landscape traditions. In fact, narratives from the land function as ‘maps’ for Indigenous people and countless indicators help travelers find their way. Stars and constellations, each with its own story, and geographic features guide travellers on their routes. Mythological acts and events featuring the imprint of human actors upon the landscape are featured in places, and cosmological relationships and associations with spirit beings identify places of power, where the combination of spirits and place creates environments favourable for spiritual communication (Wassmann 2011, 330). Places of power in the landscape consolidate spiritual energy, often linking the physical and spiritual worlds. These sacred landscapes are “a manifestation of worldviews, which populate a geographical area with a distinctive array of mythical, religious, or spiritual beings or essences” (Saunders 1994, 172). Some narratives can also be related to certain times in the life of a people and to the powers necessary for the formation of landscape features. In addition to narratives, place names focus and sustain traditional knowledge related to the land. They play an important topographic role in Indigenous cultures, and Collignon (1993, 78) notes that the toponymic system is one of the most efficient sources of information on spatial organization. Place names serve as “key elements in stories passed from one generation to the next to enable them to continue the cultural activities of the group which has occupied an area over a long period of time” (Buggey 1999, 8). Traditional place names are, thus, part of a knowledge system. Serving as “memory ‘hooks’ on which to hang the cultural fabric of a narrative tradition,” physical geography “ordered by place names is transformed into a social landscape where culture and topography are symbolically fused” (Thomas D. Andrews, quoted in Buggey 1999, 8). Through narrative associated with a place, they reflect aspects of culture which imbue the location with meaning (Buggey 1999, 8; also Aird et al. 2019; Basso 1996), and by calling specific places by their traditional names, we contextualise the site as a place of major significance to Indigenous people, acknowledging “its values rooted in the spiritual affinities between people and land” (McBryde 1995, 8). Today, many Indigenous heritage sites and cultural landscapes are defined through naming and mapping. As the case studies show, the naming of places and features in landscape by European ‘explorers’ still raises issues of power and identity struggles. This is because the name itself is an essential part of the bearer’s identity, of one’s ‘being’. Names can be given by anyone who has the command of a language. The relationship among name, namer and named, however, is a

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Connections and Constellations: Indigenous Knowledge, Worldviews, Heritage

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complicated one involving privilege, ownership and freedom (Gasque 2001, 7).28 In this sense, the dynamic of ‘naming’ becomes a primary colonizing process, because it appropriates, defines and captures a place in language. The process of naming becomes, according to Ashcroft et al., a “step into the reality of place, not simply reflecting or representing it, but in some mysterious sense intimately involved in the process of its creation, of its ‘coming into being’” (1995, 345). As names always have a meaning, the loss or changing of names comes with a loss of identity and struggle for belonging. Language, then, negotiates a kind of gap between the word and its signification, and the process of naming stresses the epistemological gap which it is designated to fill, for the dynamic of language becomes a tentative step into the reality of place, not simply reflecting or representing it (ibid). Additionally, the “ability to map and define boundaries is a political act of naming and defining which has implications for knowledge/power of and about place” (Smith 2006, 79). Knowledge about myths of origin, clans, migration and settlement is codified in a complex system of names. These names, and the knowledge codified within them, secure status, rights and proprietary titles. Understanding a particular Indigenous peoples’ system of names requires, besides anthropological research, “insights into human memory and learning capacities as well as competence in Indigenous concepts of geography” (Wassmann 2011, 347). Consequently, traditional knowledge, in the form of narratives, place names and ecological lore, bequeathed through oral tradition from generation to generation, embodies and preserves people’s relationship to the land. As has been shown, Indigenous people read the land “like a book” (Andrews 2001), as the landscape houses stories. Perception of place is, thus, not merely visual, but may be comprised in songs and stories that relate people to places and the land. Indeed, stories have been identified by Indigenous people as the most important concept of understanding the world and relating towards other people (e.g. King 2003; Silko 1997),29 and the Nigerian author Ben Okri aptly states: [. . .] we live by stories, we also live in them. One way or another we are living the stories planted in us earlier or along the way, or we are also living the stories we planted – knowingly or unknowingly – in ourselves. We live stories that either give our lives meaning or negate it with meaninglessness. If we change the stories we live by, quite possibly we change our lives (Okri 1997, 46).

Stories have been important for Indigenous people, and the art and way of storytelling has been honoured. There are stories that have to be told in a specific manner,

28

The issue of naming has been an important topic in Indigenous literature; see, for example, Thomas King, Green Grass, Running Water (1993) and Leslie Marmon Silko, Ceremony (1997), among many others. 29 The importance of stories for Indigenous people has been a continuous subject in Indigenous literature. The writer Thomas King calls stories “wondrous things” and claims: “The Truth about stories is that that’s all we are” (2003, 2). Gerald Vizenor states: “You can’t understand the world without telling a story. There isn’t any center to the world but a story” (quoted in Coltelli 1990, 156). Leslie Marmon Silko writes in her acclaimed novel Ceremony, “I will tell you something about stories. They aren’t just entertainment/Don’t be fooled/They are all we have, you see [. . .] You don’t have anything/if you don’t have the stories” (1997, 2).

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others can only be told at a certain time of the year (Glancy 1997, 70), and the keeping of stories and protection of places connected to them is key to the survival of Indigenous culture (Buggey 1999, 2). Human memories and values create the cultural heritage of places. Heritage is everything – tangible and intangible attributes of a site, the landscape and the stories that explain the land and its features. Indigenous people connect to places and heritage with stories. They have lived at places and used sites for centuries, passing on their knowledge, and the understanding of Indigenous knowledge and worldviews is important for the management and interpretation of the site. Many studies, however, focus predominantly on archaeological components of a site, but an “overemphasis on material culture skews the understanding of a location by narrowly focusing on artifacts and potentially obscuring its cultural context” (Ball et al. 2017, 6). Besides, many cultural resources have been damaged or lost because their meanings and connections with other resources found within the mosaic of cultural landscape were not recognized. The case studies try to focus on a combination of tangible and intangible features of World Heritage, acknowledging Indigenous traditional knowledge and stories.

3.5

Indigenous Rights and Interests: Heritage, Language, Culture

Consistently, Indigenous peoples have stated that “the way forward in promoting traditional knowledge is by recognizing their rights and empowering them in the development process, including upholding their right to free, prior and informed consent for all development, conservation and other activities affecting them” (Saami Council 2008, 3). This also includes the use, management and preservation of Indigenous cultural heritage sites. In Canada, a country where discrimination and the aftermath of colonization are still ongoing and visible,30 Indigenous rights and interests have been the object of many discussions and policies. This section briefly explores Indigenous rights and interests with respect to World Heritage sites and best practice as well as Indigenous tourism and community programs in connection with heritage sites.

30

An infamous instance is the case of Colten Boushie, a Cree man from the Red Pheasant First Nation, who was shot in the head by a white farmer, Gerald Stanley, in 2016. The case drew significant attention, sparking protests and provoking debates about racism in Saskatchewan and across Canada. People who supported Stanley generally perceived the trial as fair, given the circumstances of events leading up to the shooting, while supporters of the Boushie family felt the trial was unfair due to the selection of an all-white jury. The Tsq’escenemc journalist NoiseCat writes: “I am Colten Boushie. My people are Colten Boushie. And the uncomfortable truth is that Canada is the all-white jury that acquitted Stanley” (NoiseCat 2018; see also Gilmore 2018, and the documentary film Nîpawistamâsowin: We Will Stand Up, 2019, dir. Tasha Hubbard, 98 min.

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Indigenous Rights and Interests: Heritage, Language, Culture

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Recognizing Indigenous Rights and Interests

Indigenous rights and interests play an important role in heritage management. For traditional owner groups, developing and implementing plans is part of an Indigenous-led mechanism to engage in the planning and management of heritage, including consideration of collaborative frameworks. Smyth (2012) makes a list of recommendations regarding Indigenous rights, interests and engagement in protected areas, stressing that they should be conducted in full partnership with chosen representatives of Indigenous peoples. Considering IUCN guidelines, recommendations from the World Parks Congress31 and the World Conservation Congress and practices at different sites, Smyth provides guidance on developing best practice in terms of Indigenous engagement in marine protected areas, which can be applied to other sites. According to him, international experience indicates that the conservation and sustainability objectives of heritage managers “can be achieved without unduly curtailing Indigenous customary rights to access, use and management” of areas and resources (Smyth 2012, 3). A comparison of the recognition of Indigenous rights and interests at the three World Heritage sites of the case studies with international best practice gives insights into current conditions. Using Smyth’s (2012) model of best practice, the table below provides an overview of Indigenous rights and interests at the three sites of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, SGang Gwaay and Tr’ondëk-Klondike. Considering the issues of decision making for nomination, governance of the site (control and management), Indigenous community engagement, customary rights and interests, and the protection, promotion and interpretation of the cultural heritage, Indigenous involvement differs at the three sites and Indigenous rights and interests have been acknowledged differently (Table 3.2). According to current best practice, the decision to establish a World Heritage site must be made with prior informed consent by the Indigenous people involved with the site. Tr’ondëk-Klondike has been following this strategy, while the other two sites were designated without meaningful Indigenous participation. Due to different political situations at the three sites, Indigenous participation in governance and decision making and management differ considerably. While co-management or sole Indigenous management is nowadays considered best practice and the only appropriate way for the management of ‘Indigenous’ heritage sites, at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump this has not been officially exercised. The management conditions, however, influence Indigenous people’s options of use of the heritage sites. Moreover, Indigenous community engagement throughout the planning and management processes has been considered appropriate. As Table 3.1 has shown, in terms of participation, the case studies are on different stages, from consultation to citizen control. Generally, Indigenous title rights and interests should be recognized and protected at the sites. Again, these issues are approached differently, due to different 31 The ICUN World Parks Congress (WPC) is the world’s most important global forum on protected areas. It shares knowledge and innovation, setting the agenda for protected areas conservation.

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Table 3.2 Recognition of Indigenous rights and interests at World Heritage Sites

Issue Decision to establish WHS Governance (control and management)

Indigenous Community Engagement

Best practice (according to Smyth 2012) Prior informed consent by Indigenous people Opportunity for co-management or Indigenous sole management Engagement during the planning and management cycle

Customary Rights and Interests

Recognized and protected

Cultural Heritage

Protected, promoted and interpreted

Head-Smashed-in Buffalo Jump (AB) (designated in 1981) No consent process

SGang Gwaay (BC) (designated in 1981) No consent process

Tr’ondëkKlondike (YT) (on tentative list since) Consent Process; Ind. community (TH), fed. and prov. government Indigenous sole management of TH sites (e.g., Tr’ochëk)

No current pathway to co-management

Co-management by Aboriginal Management Board (AMB)

Individual consulting during planning process; employment as guides and at positions in management Native title rights not acknowledged

Haida engagement within the planning and management through the AMB

Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in engagement and leadership through-out the planning and management cycle

Native title rights acknowledged and protected

Native title rights protected (Indigenous selfgovernment) Protected, promoted and interpreted by the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, Parks Canada and prov. government

Protected, promoted and interpreted by Gov. of Alberta; partly interpreted by the Blackfoot (guides)

Protected, promoted and interpreted by the Haida and Parks Canada

Source: Smyth (2012, 28); expanded

political situations in the provinces. Finally, Indigenous heritage should be protected, promoted and interpreted by Indigenous people. At the three sites, various agencies are involved in these processes, which reflect power and knowledge of certain stakeholders that either empower Indigenous people or take power away from them, some of it within the field of Indigenous tourism.

3.5.2

Community Development and Indigenous Tourism

In recent times, Indigenous people in Canada and worldwide have become involved in the tourism industry. Research shows that the Indigenous tourism sector in Canada is growing at a rapid rate, outpacing Canadian tourism activity in general.

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It is one of the fastest-growing sectors of the industry,32 employing thousands of people, many of them First Nations who are enthusiastic about sharing their cultures with others. Almost 2000 Indigenous businesses participate in Canada’s Indigenous tourism sector, and more than 39,000 people work in the sector’s associated industries. The direct economic benefits (gross domestic product) attributed to the Indigenous tourism sector in Canada rose by 23 percent between 2014 and 2017, going from CAD 1.4 billion to CAD 1.7 billion. Compared with a 12 percent increase in overall tourism activity in Canada, this growth shows the recent and momentous acceleration of the Indigenous tourism sector across the country (Azpiri 2016; Fiser and Hermus 2019, ii). Besides, Indigenous agencies have been established, such as the Indigenous Tourism Association of Canada (ITAC),33 created to develop a unified voice of the Indigenous tourism industry and support Indigenous tourism. Recent projects and initiatives include the development of National Guidelines (ITAC 2019) for developing “authentic Indigenous experiences,” workshops on Indigenous tourism experience development, the sharing of research and marketing strategies and presenting key strategies supporting growing local capacity for Indigenous communities. Indigenous tourism is a broad term that consists of “any kind of experience that is directly related to the identity” of the nation or the entrepreneur that is presenting it (Baptiste, quoted in Azpiri 2016.) Hall argues that “the exercise of power in terms of tourism and the subsequent occupation of cultural space may have a profound effect on cultural identity” (2007, 317). He states that relationships and power relations have “substantial implications not only for tourism but also for longer-term development of Indigenous identity and well-being” (ibid., 218). Many writers in the field of Indigenous tourism have focused on the political nature of cultural tourism, where the representation of culture and the protection of cultural identity and traditions are central to its development and management (e.g. Johnston 2006). Smith (2003), for example, discusses Indigenous cultural tourism within globalized heritage tourism and shows that the development of the cultural tourism industry has exacerbated the commodification of heritage and she calls for more community-based cultural tourism initiatives. Notzke (2006) examines the community involvement in tourism development and argues that the use of social space and the assignment of certain roles to tourists by Indigenous hosts play an important part in their management strategies. Butler and Hinch (2007), finally, identify education and training as crucial

32

According to Brenda Baptiste, Director of the ITA of BC, Indigenous tourism in the province brought in CAD 50 million in revenue in 2016 and was expected to grow to CAD 68 million in 2017 (Azpiri 2016). 33 The Indigenous Tourism Association of Canada (ITAC, until 2017 Aboriginal Tourism Association of Canada) includes more than twenty Indigenous tourism industry organizations and government representatives from every province and territory in Canada. It focuses on marketing, product development support and creating partnerships between associations, organizations, government departments and industry leaders from across Canada to support the growth of Indigenous tourism and to address the demand for development and marketing of authentic Indigenous experience (ITAC homepage, https://indigenoustourism.ca).

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aspect of successful Indigenous tourist operations. As additional key themes they list a positive image of the destination of operation, ownership and control, which implies that Indigenous people enter tourism business on their own terms, which also refers to the building of relationships within the community and with others. At heritage places, Indigenous culture, history and practices are shared by Indigenous people through storytelling, arts and crafts and performances. The stories of each community and region have been developed through many hundreds and thousands of years of adaptation and interaction with the environment and the landscape. While the themes of environment and landscape may show some commonalities, each community presents stories of adaptation unique to their own geography and history, as Indigenous Tourism Association of BC Director Brenda Baptiste explains: “Part of Aboriginal tourism is that reflection of the Aboriginal identity whether you’re Haida, Coast Salish, or Squamish you create the experiences that are reflective of your community and that community’s values” (quoted in Azpiri 2016, n.p.). Latip et al. (2018) investigated the participation of Indigenous communities in conservation and tourism development projects. Using the motivation, opportunity and ability (MOA) model, they conceptualized a framework for understanding the factors that influence the participation choices of a community. The results suggest that not so much opportunity, but knowledge and awareness (ability) and the perceived environmental and economic impacts of tourism (motivation) have positive effects on the participation of Indigenous people. Indeed, for the past decade there is increasing momentum building amongst Indigenous communities interested in building capacity and improving their quality of life, using tourism as a vehicle to achieve these goals. While there are a number of examples of successful Indigenous tourism development, they are still limited to a handful of sites and events.34 Working with Indigenous communities in Canada’s north, Bell (1999a, b, 2000) developed a typology of Indigenous community development that has four categories of community benefits: community empowerment, community economic development, community wellness and community learning (see Table 3.3). This framework of community development illustrates the benefits to gateway communities from eco and cultural tourism. The strongest and most direct benefits from cultural and ecotourism are community wellness, community economic development and community learning benefits; however, community empowerment benefits are also contributed through tourism development. Bennett et al. (2012, 755) offer a somewhat similar approach, compiling a table of potential benefits and socio-economic outcomes as well as negative consequences of tourism development, considering environmental, economic, social, cultural, political and psychological issues. While Bell (1999a, b, 2000) focused on benefits, without showing any of the associated challenges, Bennett et al. (2012) addressed

34 Examples of successful Indigenous tourism development are, according to tourism consultant Ray Freeman (2014), the Haida Heritage Centre, Squamish Lil’wat Cultural Centre, Nk’Mip Desert Cultural Centre, Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, Blackfoot Crossing and Wanuskewin Heritage Park.

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Table 3.3 Bell’s Four Areas of Community Development through Tourism Community empowerment Governance Community control Organizational structures Representation Programs and services Resources Policy frameworks Control of mixed economies Community wellness Physical, mental, social, and spiritual health Relationship with the land Self-identify through traditional culture Healing Prevention Supportive relationships Links between personal and family needs, healthcare services Strong families

Community economic development Jobs and development Business Investment Community economic development strategies Models, partnerships, support mechanisms

Community learning Community as a classroom Land as a classroom Acquiring wisdom and knowledge from Elders Schooling Individual and group learning Literacy and adult basic education Skill development and training

Source: Bell (1999a, b, 2000), as quoted in Elliott (2017, 27)

potential effects informed by a wide range of research projects. Using both frameworks, Elliot (2011, 41) displays benefits and challenges resulting from tourism within Gwaii Haanas to the communities of Haida Gwaii. Some effects are more tangible than others, but they all influence how residents are living, their opportunities and choices (ibid., 66). While all these catalogues are helpful in identifying benefits and challenges, for this research project it was important to develop a framework that identifies the benefits and challenges of heritage management and use for Indigenous communities, framing them in heritage discourses. In many cases the impacts are multi-faceted, influencing multiple aspects of community life.

3.5.3

Cultural Programs: Language and Youth

Besides tourism, cultural programs using heritage are important for identity building. Cultural programs involving World Heritage sites can be helpful in that respect, fostering language learning, cultural awareness, knowledge transfer and traditional practices. Language is seen by Indigenous peoples as a vital part of belonging to the community and is recognized as a driving force in transmitting culture (Jenni et al. 2017; McIvor 2013; McIvor et al. 2017; McIvor and Napoleon 2009). Jenni et al. explore the connection between Indigenous language learning and wellbeing, a term

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used “to broadly capture people’s perceptions of subjectively meaningful positive thoughts and feelings with regard to their mind, spirit, and body” (2017, 26). The benefits of Indigenous language use, however, remain largely unrealized as there are few communities where an Indigenous language is spoken as the majority language today (ibid.). The loss of one language, according to anthropologist Wade Davis, is akin to clear-cutting an “old-growth forest of the mind” (2009, 3). The world’s complex web of myths, beliefs and ideas – which Davis calls the ‘ethnosphere’ – is torn, just as the loss of a species weakens the biosphere. The death of languages “represents the impoverishment of what it is to be human” (Hume 2014, n.p.); it is “a kind of planetary dementia as we shed bits of our collective knowledge” (ibid.). Canada has a shameful legacy of systematically eradicating Indigenous languages, as First Nations’ children were compelled to attend schools where speaking their own languages was forbidden, and linguist Marianne Ignace warns that thirty or more Indigenous languages in British Columbia are today critically endangered (ibid.). Language learning and revitalizing is therefore of predominant importance for Indigenous communities, and programs to remember, reawake and revitalize languages are being established. Heritage is an asset in these endeavours, as the case study of Gwaii Haanas will demonstrate. In addition to language programs, cultural programs and especially youth programs are an important way to empower Indigenous communities. Many different national and international programs have been designed with that goal. The idea of using heritage tourism to empower young people to achieve economic advancement and self-esteem is, for example, the underlying approach of Youth Poverty Alleviation through Tourism and Heritage (YouthPATH), a regional UNESCO initiative.35 Often challenged by substance abuse, juvenile delinquency and many painful forms of family disruption, the local Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities in Canada set up a number of dynamic youth projects, among them Rediscovery Camps. The camps provide models for communities wishing to pass on traditional knowledge in a traditional way. While establishing cultural identity has been considered a priority and a major step in the healing process of Indigenous communities, the importance and influence of rediscovery camps has been widely recognized. Indigenous youth recommend youth camps as places where they can get back to the land and learn about themselves and their culture in the Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, which states: Rediscovery Camps bring together Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal youth to increase understanding and awareness and to build bridges between cultures. Some Aboriginal youth know as little about Aboriginal cultures as non-Aboriginal youth do. For those looking to learn about themselves, Rediscovery provides an opportunity to learn about their culture in a traditional environment (RCAP 1996, Report, Vol. 4, 150).

35

YouthPATH uses heritage tourism to empower young people to achieve economic advancement and self-esteem; the objective is to train young people in poor rural communities in the development and documentation of cultural and heritage sites. The intention is that heritage sites will become centres of national and international tourism and, thus, generate income, reduce poverty and contribute to community development.

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A Framework for Heritage Use and Community Development

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The Commission recommended that federal, provincial and territorial governments provide funding for community initiatives to establish Indigenous youth camps that would pursue cultural activities linking youth with Elders “through the development of traditional skills and knowledge” (ibid., 151). The camps would “provide an excellent way to begin to establish cultural identity and to instill the confidence Aboriginal youth will need to confront the challenge of rebuilding their communities” (ibid.). Activities such as drumming and dance groups, powwows, language classes, youth and Elder gatherings have been recommended as “helpful in spiritual healing by various communities” (ibid., 151). Rediscovery Camps provide one model for culture camps for young people, where wilderness activities, blended with native culture, serve to develop and strengthen feelings of confidence and self-worth for Indigenous and non-Indigenous participants alike (Rediscovery.org).36 Its success is a tribute to countless people sharing a mission and coming together from many widely divergent communities. Participants are to ‘rediscover’ “the strength of cultural traditions, the wisdom of the Elders, a philosophy of respect and love [. . .] for nature, for each other, and for ourselves” (ibid.). A unique feature of the camps is the emphasis on traditional knowledge. Members of the local community participate as guides or group leaders. Sharing their songs, stories, crafts and skills, Elders naturally assume the respected head positions at the camps and function as counselors, give advice and guidance and help camp participants to establish a renewed contact with the land and heritage around them.

3.6

A Framework for Heritage Use and Community Development

Exploring, examining and evaluating Indigenous empowerment, capacity building and community development through heritage is rather difficult. There are many issues involved, and diverse power constellations and relationships need to be considered. In order to approach this complex and multifaceted concept, an investigation map or framework of Indigenous empowerment and community development through World Heritage (see Table 3.4) shall be employed – a sort of exploratory ‘road map’. This is not a cause-and-effect diagram and the arrows do not necessarily indicate the direction of certain outcomes or coherences. However, they do indicate connections, relations and impacts. The composition of the diverse features and aspects of the map helps to structure the case studies, but it does not indicate that community development is inherently dependent on cultural heritage and the features involved. Also, some arrows need to be both ways, as, for example, the political structure and ownership defines the ownership and control of the heritage site.

36 Rediscovery Camps constitute a broad network of affiliated programs spanning several countries, including Canada, the United States and New Zealand (https://rediscovery.org).

↙↘ ↓

→

↓

↓

↓

● investments ● economic partnerships

services businesses

● job opportunities ● sales of goods and

● administration

and educational opportunities ● local self-esteem and community pride ● intergenerational connection, knowledge sharing ● strengthening of community (relationships) ● sense of community

● training

Social Development and Benefits

documentation of cultural knowledge, language, and artifacts; repatriation ● respect for and understanding of Ind. culture ● support and opportunities for cultural revitalization ● jobs that reinforce cultural links with land and sea

● conservation and

Cultural Development and Benefits

skills and knowledge ● land as a classroom ● wisdom and knowledge from Elders ● learning opportunities ● educational programs ● language programs ● youth camps

● developing

Community Learning and Education

↓

Operation and Management How is the site managed? (participation and engagement of Ind. people, staff training, curation of museum, management plan)

and

mental, social, and spiritual health ● relationship with the land (and sea) ● self-identification through traditional culture ● reconciliation

● physical,

Spiritual Development/ Community Wellbeing

Conservation and Protection How is the site protected and who is involved? (role of UNESCO, programs)

Who owns the land/site? (agreements and protocols)

Ownership

Indigenous Empowerment, Capacity Building and Community Development

Economic Development and Benefits

of heritage (operation and management) ● collaborations and partnerships

↓

Landscape/Place and Features of the Site Natural environment and other representations of Indigenous people, their culture and lifestyle (mnemonic features); including: Tangible Heritage Intangible Heritage (landscape, artefacts, (stories, traditions, ceremonies, camps and settlements) practices, language and other activities connected to the place)

Indigenous World Heritage Site

Museum / Interpretive Centre / Cultural Centre Interpretation and Representation of Indigenous people, their culture and lifestyle (exhibits and displays, films, programs, tours, and guides)

←

←

Political and Organizational Development

Public Perception How is the site perceived? (visitors’ expectations and knowledge of Indigenous people and site; storytelling)

Resource Management How are the resources of the site used and managed? (natural resource extraction)

and

3

↓

Who visits the site? (number of tourists, marketing, benefits for Indigenous communities)

Tourism

Designation(s) (institution/organization, time, motives, terms, policies, etc.) ↓

Table 3.4 Diagram of Indigenous empowerment and community development through World Heritage 132 Indigenous Empowerment and Community Development through Heritage

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A Framework for Heritage Use and Community Development

3.6.1

133

The Heart of the Map: The Indigenous World Heritage Site

At the centre of the map and of each case study is the (World) Heritage site itself, i.e., the landscape of the ‘site’ and its features. This encompasses the natural environment with its mnemonic features and other representations of Indigenous people, their culture and lifestyle. The heritage site is composed of material features such as artifacts, features of landscape, camps and settlements, as well as immaterial attributes such as stories, traditions, customs, ceremonies, practices, language and other intangible inheritance connected to the site. Both tangible and intangible features need to be addressed and examined. As heritage sites of provincial, national and international designation, each site carries different forms of designations that are indicated at the top of the map. They are designated by different institutions on local, national or international levels. The positioning of the designation status atop the site implies a somewhat ‘authorized’ approach of designation, something that has been imposed on the site, not necessarily in consent with the Indigenous people involved with the site. Each site of the case studies has received several designations that are examined, considering time, institution and organization, motives, terms and policies involved. While HeadSmashed-In Buffalo Jump and SGang Gwaay each have been suggested by non-Indigenous anthropologists and archaeologists to be put forward as a World Heritage site, Tr’ondëk-Klondike was a community endeavour, with the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in in the driving seat, but which has not received World Heritage designation yet. As part of the designation, museums, interpretive or cultural centres have been developed at the different sites, interpreting and representing the Indigenous people, their culture and ways of life. The exhibits and displays, films, programs, tours and guides are part of the heritage site, catering to tourists, interpreting the tangible and intangible features of the site. While the site consists of the landscape and place in the first place, both the museum and the site or landscape make up the actual heritage site. Often, tourists perceive the museum with more interest than the landscape or place, as it is here that they learn about the site. Here, visitors experience entertainment, education and social and emotional experiences through exhibitions, displays, performances and/or workshops. Since the museums and centres are not part of the actual heritage, however, they are located beneath the ‘heritage frame’, indicating one way of ‘use’ of heritage. They feature interpretations from different sources (Indigenous and non-Indigenous), understanding and versions of histories and readings of cultures and narratives that are constructed according to the powers and views of the ‘experts’. Here different heritage discourses are represented and come into dialogue. At the three discussed sites, visitors are able to explore museums, an interpretive centre and a cultural centre, respectively. Therefore, the Interpretative Centre at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, the Haida Gwaii Museum, the Dawson City Museum and the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre are closely examined. Besides interpretation, the issue of repatriation is discussed.

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Framing the Site: Ownership, Control, Tourism and Resources

When analyzing the site, ownership, operation and management need to be considered, as indicated on the right side of the map. The questions of who owns the site and land and how is the site managed are of major importance for Indigenous participation and community development. Consequently, current policies, agreements and protocols concerning the site and the museums are considered. The participation and engagement of Indigenous people are defined and spelled out in management plans and reflected in staff training and in the curation of exhibitions. Furthermore, circumstances of conservation and protection are connected with ownership and management. Therefore, conservation programs on local, national and international levels, including the role of UNESCO, need to be scanned. The three case studies present different conditions of ownership and management constellations. While Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump is owned and managed by the Government of Alberta, the site of SGang Gwaay is managed by the Archipelago Management Board, comprised of members of the Haida Nation and Parks Canada. In the Klondike, the Nation of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in own the land, and a combined management plan for the site of Tr’ondëk-Klondike as nominated in 2017 was developed by all stakeholders. The site or surrounding landscape of the site is also of interest in terms of resource management and tourism, as indicated on the left side of the map. Visitors’ expectations and knowledge concerning Indigenous people and the site influence the visitors’ experience. It has to be determined, who visits the site, for what reasons, and what visitors take with them. The number of tourists and their ‘making’ is not only influential in terms of marketing, but also in terms of benefits for Indigenous communities. Furthermore, it needs to be looked at how Indigenous people are involved and how they benefit economically and culturally from resources and money-making ventures at the site. The three case studies are again quite different in this regard. While Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump is a major tourist attraction, drawing hundreds of thousands of visitors every year, SGang Gwaay is, due to it seclusion, only visited by a small number of tourists with specific interests and experiences. Tr’ondëk-Klondike draws a different clientele, again, telling the story of the Klondike gold rush through diverse representations and storytelling. Furthermore, resource management at heritage sites and the surrounding landscape might include logging, fishing, mineral resources, farming and other activities. In these categories, the three case studies differ noticeably. At Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump resource management is not really an issue and is, therefore, not considered. At Gwaii Haanas, on the other hand, the issue of logging has been dealt with for decades, and fishing has been an issue in the management plan. At Tr’ondëkKlondike mining has been an issue of consternation for many decades and stakeholders.

3.6

A Framework for Heritage Use and Community Development

3.6.3

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Empowerment, Capacity Building and Community Development through Heritage

The main focus of the analysis of Indigenous (World) Heritage sites is the impact of heritage sites on Indigenous empowerment, capacity building and community development. Following Bell’s (1999a, b, 2000) four areas of community development through tourism, the diagram features six categories of community development, namely political and organizational development, economic development and benefits, social development and benefits, cultural development and benefits, community learning and education, and spiritual development and community wellbeing. There are many overlapping aspects among these categories and no strict borders. Among others, it can be argued that community learning and education is part of cultural and social development, and spiritual development and community wellbeing can be seen as part of social development within the community. There are, however, certain reasons why these aspects have been chosen and categorized for analysis. Examining the political and organizational development of Indigenous communities includes looking at the administration of heritage sites, collaborations and partnerships. The heritage sites do not help with the overall political development of the people. However, as SGang Gwaay demonstrates, the involvement and fight for their heritage helped the Haida on their way to political empowerment and selfdetermination and finally to the signing of reconciliation protocols and the establishing of the Archipelago Management Board. Accordingly, even political empowerment may be influenced by heritage sites. In terms of economic development and benefits, employment opportunities, sales of goods and services, businesses ventures, investments and economic partnerships are examined. An assessment of social development and benefits includes the training and educational opportunities, local self-esteem and community pride, intergenerational connection and knowledge sharing, strengthening of community relationships and the establishing of a sense of community through heritage. An examination of cultural development and benefits through heritage includes such aspects as the conservation and documentation of cultural knowledge, language, artifacts and repatriation, respect for and understanding of Indigenous culture, support and opportunities for cultural revitalization, as well as employment that reinforces cultural links with land (and sea). The issue of community learning and education includes aspects such as developing skills and knowledge, land as a classroom, wisdom and knowledge of Elders, providing learning opportunities, educational programs, language programs and youth camps. The final category, spiritual development and community wellbeing, considers physical, mental, social and spiritual health, relationship with the land and sea, self-identification through traditional culture and reconciliation. As Indigenous people regard healing and wellbeing as “an interconnection between earth, body and spirit” and “to live a balanced life” (Manitowabi and Shawande 2011, 441), heritage plays an important role in this regard. Not all categories and aspects will be examined in the same detail at each case study; instead, each case

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focuses on specific aspects that are of importance for the Indigenous community related with the specific site. Working with Indigenous communities requires consideration of how to use heritage, who is working with whom, on what conditions, how cooperation came about, what stakeholders are involved and what the higher goals are. It raises questions around the levels of power sharing and the extent to which the management at the sites are willing and able to incorporate changing perspectives and power structures. Considering these aspects, one also has to be aware of the complex phenomenon of ‘community’, as Burkett puts it: Community is a paradoxical experience – it is about difference as much as it is about unity, about conflict and harmony, selfishness and mutuality, separateness and wholeness, discomfort and comfort. To privilege one of these aspects of tension in interpreting community is to deny the transformatory powers of human communion and to resort to fixed ideas about community (Burkett 2001, 242).

It is, therefore, important not to generalize and be aware of the many different interests and perspectives on heritage within an Indigenous community. However, the readiness of a community to work to improve existing conditions and the social capital necessary for communities to move forward and collaborate serve as basis for the study. The outcome can be seen as a social action process through which individuals, organizations and communities gain expertise on their lives, so as to modify their social and political environment in order to improve the quality of life. It also means participation, education and opportunities to use the acquired knowledge in a way contributive to society, linking “the acquisition of knowledge and skills to social needs and mobilization” (Biancalana 2007, 24). The following three chapters explore the World Heritage sites of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas and Tr’ondëk-Klondike. While all three sites are of importance for the Indigenous people involved with the land, heritage and culture, the communities are differently involved in the management and operation of the sites and, therefore, have different access and options for the use of the sites in order to promote benefits and community development.

Bibliography Interviews and Personal Communication Knowlton, Stan, Head of Interpretation, HSIBJ Interpretative Centre, Fort Macleod, 16/17 Oct 2011

Literature Abele, Frances. 1997. “Traditional Knowledge in Practice,” Arctic, 50(4), iii–iv.

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Mendes, Philip. 2008. “Teaching Community Development to Social Work Students: A Critical Reflection,” Community Development Journal, 44(2), 248–262. Merculieff, Harion. 1994. “Western Society’s Linear Systems and Aboriginal Cultures: The Need for Two-Way Exchanges for the Sake of Survival”, in: Ernest S. Burch, Jr. and Linda J. Ellana (eds.), Key Issues in Hunter-Gatherer Research. Oxford: Berg, 405–415. Merriam-Webster Dictionary. 2018. “empowerment,” Merriam-Webster, Inc., https://www. merriam-webster.com/dictionary/empowerment [accessed 30 Dec 2020]. Minkler, Meredith and Nina Wallerstein (eds.). 2003. Community Based Participatory Research in Health. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Morris, Paul. 1996. “Community Beyond Tradition,” in: Paul Heelas, Scott Lash and Paul Morris (eds.), Detraditionalisation: Critical Reflections on Authority and Identity. Cambridge: Blackwell Publishers, 223–249. Nabigon, Herbert. 1993. “Reclaiming the Spirit for First Nations Self-Government,” in: AnneMarie Mawhiney (ed.), Rebirth: Political, Economic, and Social Development in First Nations. Toronto: Dundurn Publishers. Nabigon, Herbert. 2003. “Inclusivity and Diversity at the Macro Level: Aboriginal Self-Government,” Native Social Work Journal, 5, 287–293. Nachshen, Jennifer S. 2005. “Empowerment and Families: Building Bridges between Parents and Professionals, Theory and Research,” Journal on Developmental Disabilities, 1(1), 67–75. Nadasdy, Paul. 1999. “The Politics of TEK: Power and the ‘Integration’ of Knowledge,” Arctic Anthropology, 36(1/2), 1–18. Nadasdy, Paul. 2003. Hunters and Bureaucrats: Power, Knowledge, and Aboriginal-State Relations in the Southwest Yukon. Vancouver: UBS Press. Narayan, Deepa (ed.). 2002. Empowerment and Poverty Reduction: A Sourcebook. Washington, D.C.: The World Bank. Neihardt, John G. 1988 [1932]. Black Elk Speaks: Being the Life Story of a Holy Man of the Oglala Sioux. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Nelson, Mathew. 2013. “Health Ownership in American Indigenous Communities,” Rural and Remote Health, 13(2), 2–8. Nelson, Melissa K. and Dan Shilling (eds.). 2018. Traditional Ecological Knowledge: Learning from Indigenous Practices for Environmental Sustainability. Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press. NLM (U.S. National Library of Medicine). n.d. “Medicine Ways: Traditional Healers and Healing – The Medicine Wheel and the Four Directions,” Native Voices: Native Peoples’ Concepts of Health and Illness, https://www.nlm.nih.gov/nativevoices/exhibition/healing-ways/medicineways/medicine-wheel.html [accessed 30 Oct 2020]. NoiseCat, Julian Brave. 2018. “I am Colten Boushie: Canada Is the All-White Jury That Acquitted His Killer,” The Guardian, 28 February, https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/ feb/28/colten-boushie-canada-all-white-jury-acquitted [accessed 20 Jan 2020]. Notzke, Claudia. 2006. “The Stranger, the Native and the Land”: Perspectives on Indigenous Tourism. Concord: Captus Press. OECD. 2001. Citizens as Partners: OECD Handbook on Information, Consultation and Public Participation in Policy-Making. Paris: Organization for Economic Co-Operation and Development (OECD). Okri, Ben. 1997. A Way of Being Free. London: Phoenix House. Onciul, Bryony. 2015. Museums, Heritage and Indigenous Voice: Decolonizing Engagement. London: Routledge. Pard, Allan, et al. 2016. “The Blackfoot Medicine Wheel Project,” Back on the Horse: Recent Developments in Archaeological and Paleontological Research in Alberta. Archaeological Survey of Alberta Occasional Paper No. 36, 86–99. Partridge, Cheryle. 2010. “Residential Schools: The Intergenerational Impacts on Aboriginal Peoples,” Native Social Work Journal, 7, 33–62.

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Chapter 4

Consultation and Communication: Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump

This place is a story and that story is me; that’s who I am. Conrad Little Leaf, Piikani and Lead Guide at HSIBJ (Quoted in Kristensen and Donnelly 2018) All of our being is connected, spiritually and physically, to our homelands. Andy Black Water, Kainai (Quoted in The Blackfoot Gallery Committee 2013, 19.)

Abstract The chapter explores the site of Head-Smashed-Buffalo Jump in Alberta, one of the most important heritage sites of the Blackfoot people. After describing the designation process, in which the Blackfoot were hardly engaged, the chapter provides a brief overview of Blackfoot history and culture. Reviewing the current administration and operation processes of the site, it then shows how the Blackfoot people participate in the management process, and analyzes the value and impact of an Indigenous World Heritage site owned and controlled by the Government of Alberta for community development. Furthermore, the Interpretive Centre is observed and its exhibitions and representations of Blackfoot culture are analyzed. The chapter also contains a discussion of the educational value of the site as a major tourist attraction for non-Indigenous and Indigenous visitors alike, where archaeology, history, and the concept of world heritage act as contextualizing frameworks. Finally, the chapter examines different ways of the Blackfoot people of claiming the site as their own and discusses Indigenous involvement and the building of community capacity through the site. Keywords Blackfoot · Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump · Indigenous engagement · Visitors’ expectations · Tourism · Community · Community capacity · Indigenous agency

In the Porcupine Hills in Southern Alberta, where the foothills of the Rocky Mountains begin to rise from the Great Plains, we find one of the most sacred sites © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 G. Susemihl, Claiming Back Their Heritage, Heritage Studies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-40063-6_4

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Fig. 4.1 The cliff at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. (Photo by Susemihl)

within the traditional domain of the prairie people – the World Heritage site of HeadSmashed-In Buffalo Jump (see Fig. 4.1). It is a place that tells of human imagination and shrewdness of the Indigenous people who invented and kept the jump alive for thousands of years. It is also one of the most important heritage sites of the Blackfoot people today. The site exemplifies the culture and society of the Plains people for nearly six millennia before the European settlement of the region, representing a complex range of Indigenous identities, ideologies and social relations. At the same time, HSIBJ is inextricably linked to regional Blackfoot and settler-colonial histories, as well as the tensions that emerge between the two (Chew 2016; Onciul 2015). At the site, archaeology, history and the concept of world heritage act as contextualizing frameworks. The archaeological context, authorized through global UNESCO recognition, especially serves “as the evidentiary vindication of an intelligible national genealogy” (Chew 2015, 224) and operates within the ‘authorized heritage discourse’. The Blackfoot participate in the management of the site only through consultation and delegated power. This chapter argues that the site itself has limited impact on the empowerment and community development of the Blackfoot people. One reason for this is that the Blackfoot were hardly engaged in the designation process, as described in the first section. After providing an overview of Blackfoot history and culture, the chapter further explores how Blackfoot people are involved in the management and operation of the site. In examining the Interpretive Centre and analyzing its exhibitions and representation of Blackfoot culture, I argue that the Blackfoot have only limited influence on the interpretation of the site.

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Finally, there is a discussion of the educational value of the site as a major tourist attraction for non-Indigenous and Indigenous visitors. Throughout, the value and impact of an Indigenous World Heritage owned and controlled by the Government of Alberta for the Blackfoot community development is analyzed and evaluated.

4.1

The World Heritage Site of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump

Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, estipah-skikikini-kots in Blackfoot,1 located eighteen kilometres northwest of Fort MacLeod and about one kilometre off the northern boundary of the Piikani reserve, is one of the oldest, largest and best-preserved buffalo jumps in North America. For nearly six thousand years, the place was used almost continuously as a buffalo jump by the resident tribes, most recently the Piikani and Kainai, two of the four tribes of the Blackfoot Nation. The site includes the gathering basin, the kill site, and the processing area and campsite. The winter camping grounds were located nearby in the Oldman River valley. After several investigations between 1930 and 1970, its archaeological significance was recognized and the need for official protection was pointed out. The designations, however, were received with little Indigenous input, due to political circumstances of the time. Having been forced onto reserves in the 1870s and entering a state of deprivation and political and social struggles for decades, the Blackfoot had neither the power nor the means to participate in an endeavor for any conservation projects in the 1970s.

4.1.1

Description and Designation

After the Blackfoot had been forced onto reserves in the 1870s, the land around the buffalo jump was acquired by ranchers and privately owned for decades. Seeing themselves as stewards of the place, the ranching families protected it from pillage. As the land is too rough to farm and “suitable only for grazing of large herbivores” (Brink 2008, 261), it had never been farmed or cultivated. For that reason, the land around the site looks today “much as it would have several thousand years ago” (ibid.), apart from a few houses scattered kilometres apart, dirt roads and barbed wire fences. This appearance was a key factor in the UNESCO designation and the subsequent decision of the Canadian and Provincial Governments to put millions of dollars into the development of the site.

1

In 2012, the homepage of HSIBJ was still using the Blackfoot traditional name; later it was deleted. For a discussion of the traditional name see Calloway 2003, 606; de Leon 2003, 2; Grant et al. 2015, 253; and PC 2019c.

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Evidence of ancient and historic use is common in the area and includes tipi rings, buried camps, rock alignments, cairns, vision-quest structures, pictographs and burials. The site was first explored by Junius Bird and members of the American Museum of Natural History in 1938, and later by Boyd Wettlaufer of the University of New Mexico in 1949. Since then, it has become the object of systematic excavations, which have considerably enriched the knowledge of prehistoric arms and tools and transformed current thinking on the use of game as food and in clothing and lodging. Over the decades the jump also received considerable attention from arrowhead and artifact collectors. Given that nearly 6000 years of use as buffalo jump had left immense quantities of bones and other material, which accumulated to a depth of more than ten metres, some form of protection seemed necessary. Consequently, the site was declared a Canadian National Historic Site by the federal government in 1968 and a Provincial Historic Site in 1979. At this time, the idea of considering the site as a World Heritage site emerged, when anthropologist and director of Archaeological Survey of Alberta, William J. Byrne, who had excavated at the site, “toyed with the idea that Head-Smashed-In just might be a worthwhile addition to the prestigious list of UNESCO World Heritage sites” (Brink 2008, 260).2 The nomination package was written by Brian Reeves, who had directed archaeological excavations at HSIBJ, and submitted to UNESCO in 1980. The surrounding land was only purchased by the province a few years later when they decided that they would be constructing an interpretive centre at the site.3 Because of its “extraordinary archaeological, historical, and ethnographical value” (ACD n.d., 4) combined with “its prairie setting” and “outstanding interpretive potential” (ibid.), Head-Smashed-In was designated a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1981. Inscribed under criterion vi,4 which recognizes its direct association with “the survival of the human race during the pre-historic period” (ICOMOS 1981b), this site is an outstanding illustration of the subsistence hunting techniques of Plains nations. In terms of integrity, the property encompasses all the elements necessary to understand the communal hunting technique that is the basis for its OUV and its boundaries “adequately ensure the complete representation of the features and processes that convey the property’s significance” (UNESCO 2021c).

2

In August 1980, there were 64 cultural, 17 natural and 3 mixed World Heritage sites inscribed on the UNESCO list. Even Stonehenge, the Taj Mahal, and the Acropolis were inscribed later than HSIBJ (UNESCO 2021i). 3 The province purchased the land when it decided that they would be constructing the interpretive centre sometime around 1984 and Ian Clarke became the negotiator for the province (Clarke, personal communication 2020). 4 Criterion vi recognizes a site “to be directly or tangibly associated with events or living traditions, with ideas, or with beliefs, with artistic and literary works of outstanding universal significance” (UNESCO 2019, 26).

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Fig. 4.2 Map of the area of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. (Courtesy of HSIBJ)

Covering 4000 hectares,5 this huge bison kill complex is composed of four distinct components: the gathering basin, the V-shaped drive lanes, the cliff kill site and the campsite and processing area (see Fig. 4.2). Each of these has different archaeological remains associated with communal buffalo hunting, ranging from drive lane cairns and projectile points to butchered bone and fire-broken rock. Layers of bison bones buried up to ten metres below the cliff represent nearly six thousand years of use of the buffalo jump by Indigenous people.6 According to archaeologist Jack Brink, there is also “solid evidence that ancient hunters inhabited the site more than nine thousand years ago” (2008, 20). The cliff itself is about three-hundred metres long, and at its highest point drops ten metres to the prairieland below, where the butchering and processing of the carcasses took place. This area contains the largest concentration of fire-broken rock (river cobbles hauled there several kilometres uphill) found at any archaeological site in the Northern Plains (Brink and Dawe 2003, 103). The life of the Blackfoot people, who moved seasonally between summer and winter camps, was based on the bison. The very long process of interaction between climate, vegetation and animals has created the present day geology and topography of the site (Brink 2008). The social organization of the Indigenous people, combined with their intimate knowledge of animal behaviour and the site’s natural features, turned the entire landscape into a ‘natural’ buffalo kill site. HSIBJ is proof of the people’s familiarity with the geography, the climate and the weather patterns and represents a perfect adaptation of communal hunting techniques to a unique 5

According to long-time Regional Director Ian Clarke, there is an error between the mapping and the estimated size of the inscribed area; the inscribed area covers 35.75 sections of land which comprises 22,880 acres or 9259 hectares, not the 4000 hectares listed in the World Heritage designation document (Clarke 2014, 1). 6 The site was used for the slaughter of bison from 3600 B.C. to 2600 B.C., then intermittently toward 900 B.C., and finally, continuously from 206 A.D. to 1850 (ICOMOS 1981b).

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environment (Reeves 1978). Today, there are no bison on the site,7 as the property is too small to support them. The land, however, is still used for ranching. When the government bought the land from the ranchers, they agreed to lease it back to them, because ranching has had minimal impact on the archaeological resource and grazing served as method of fuel reduction for the ever-present prairie fires (Interview with Clarke 2011; UNESCO 2020). The central 640 acres of the property are owned and managed by the Government of Alberta as a provincial historic site. The remainder of the 4000 hectares is a mix of provincial Crown land leased to local ranchers and private deeded land owned by the same ranchers. In 2000, the Province of Alberta included HSIBJ in the Special Places program in order to afford it another level of protection. This designation resulted in the enforcement of numerous land use controls through municipal and provincial legislation to ensure that no development took place within appropriate land use control zones (Dailoo 2009, 123; UNESCO 2021c). The development of industry in the surrounding lands, including windmills, electrical lines and mines are, therefore, restricted, and the additional designation has helped protect the site from vandalism and pothunters. Also, through this program, another 728 hectares were added to the original Provincial Historic Resource Designation, so that today, 890 hectares of the site are owned by the Province and are covered by protective provincial legislation (Clarke 2014, 4). With the site’s designation as a World Heritage site, a process was initiated by a group of Provincial Government Culture and Historic Sites staff, with input from consultants, including architects, landscape architects and ecologists, to develop plans for an interpretive centre that would accommodate the expected increase in tourism, house the permanent archaeological research facilities, interpret and preserve the site (Sandalack 2019, 167). In 1983, a field crew conducted archaeological studies of the areas where development would cause surface disturbance, such as access roads, parking lots and the building site, which initiated a multi-year archaeological project to acquire information about the site that was not available from previous excavations (Brink et al. 1985; Morlan 1985). These were necessary for the site’s interpretation program, which includes historical information that explain the mechanics of the jump, the ethno-history of the human groups involved, the ecology of the site and the inter-relationships. The Interpretive Centre finally opened in 1987. The established name for the site, Head-Smashed-In, was first recorded by the Geological Survey of Canada in the early 1880s (Sandalack 2019, 166). It was derived from a tragic event, the story of which has been handed down through generations of Blackfoot. Once, while the buffalo were being driven toward the cliff, a curious boy, who was too young to join as a hunter, wanting to watch the spectacle up close, crawled into a nook in the cliff face just below where the great beasts would plunge over the edge. When he heard the thunder of the buffalo hooves, he braced himself against the rocks. But the hunt was so successful that day that the pile of

7 Until 2011, there were still bison grazing on the land surrounding the site, but they disappeared in 2012. Recently, a small herd has been re-introduced to the area (Kristensen and Donnelly 2018).

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animals reached the nook, crushing the boy. While killing the injured beasts and hauling them away the hunters found the boy dead with his head crushed by the weight of the kill.8 To the Kainai, however, the place has always been known by the generic term piskaan (buffalo jump), and the true story of the name, according to the late Kainai Elder Lorrain Goodstriker, took place north of that site and tells of a different incident: In the past, Plains Cree and the Blackfoot did not get along, they were enemies. With the Northern Cree we could get along [. . .] because we would sometimes make trades with them. At this time, a Blackfoot warrior had met this Plains Cree around the Cayley area north of us; it was at this creek called Mud Creek. As soon as the two met they began fighting it out and one had to die. In the olden days there were some people who had spiritual powers to transform themselves into whatever they wanted to become, so the Cree unaware of the Blackfoot warriors gift [. . .] hit the Blackfoot backwards into the water, [and] the Blackfoot warrior transformed himself into a Beaver. He swam around the Cree and came out from behind the Cree and transformed himself back to a human. He slowly picked up a rock, while the Cree was still waiting for the Blackfoot to surface. The Blackfoot warrior hit him in the back of his head and smashed it in; hence, the Cree warrior was killed (quoted in Hassall 2006, 30).

Other Blackfoot Elders believe that the story of the boy and the name are correct, but refer to another, nearby site. Although the story of the name has been a constant source of consternation among the Blackfoot Elders, its value for tourism is undeniable (Brink 2008, 26). They are keenly aware that it would be economically unwise to change it and the name Head-Smashed-In9 has become a trademark of the site.

4.1.2

Blackfoot Consultation in the Designation and Interpretation Processes

Indigenous participation in the designation process has to be seen and evaluated within the political context at the time. In the 1970s, according to Brink (2008), there were “not many powerful people [. . .] inclined to spend large amounts of taxpayers’ dollars on the preservation and interpretation of what was then thought of as Indian history” (260) and “heritage development, for the most part, consisted of commemorating European settlement and the history of the province – a trend not restricted to Alberta, but one true for virtually all of North America” (ibid.). The Government of Alberta had purchased the land of HSIBJ from private owners and the tribes were restricted to reservations. As they had no legal claims to the land, the Blackfoot did

8 There are different versions of the story; see, for example, Lorraine Goodstriker (quoted in Hassall 2006, 30) and Quinton Crow Shoe (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011). This version is according to Brink (2008, 24–25). 9 In 2000, the name was changed from “Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump Complex” to “HeadSmashed-In Buffalo Jump” (UNESCO 2000).

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not officially participate in the nomination and designation process, which is different from procedures today, as the case of Tr’ondëk-Klondike shows. While their forefathers had used the site for thousands of years, throughout the processes of designation and development of the site, the Blackfoot were neither at the table as often as the academics and government officials, nor were their voices considered to have the same authority as those of the ‘experts’. Instead, Blackfoot participation in the designation process occurred on an individual, person-to-person basis and was restricted to consultation. The Interpretive Centre, as well, was an idea envisioned by a group of non-Indigenous archaeologists who had been working on excavations at the site. Only after the site had received World Heritage designation and funding for an interpretive centre had been secured, did Blackfoot community involvement became part of the process (Brink 2008, 272; Onciul 2015, 139). All the exhibits were planned by Western ‘experts’. Archaeologist and curator at the Royal Alberta Museum, Jack Brink, was the leading archaeologist on the Head-Smashed-In project and assigned the task of community consultation. Historic Sites Service of Alberta Culture and Multiculturalism, the client for the project, defined the community in this case as the towns, ranches and Indigenous reserves in the immediate vicinity of HSIBJ as well as the academic community (Sandalack 2019, 175). The process was to include community engagement, which is viewed by current museology “as a positive, mutually beneficial way to improve and democratize representation” (Onciul 2015, 71). Assisting with the planning of the project, a Community Advisory Board was established that consisted of representatives from the Blackfoot and non-Indigenous communities, and early on the board proposed that the storyline of the exhibit “reflect Indigenous interpretation through folklore and legend as well as archaeological evidence” (Sandalack 2019, 176). Following this suggestion, the interpretation was developed in consultation with Blackfoot Elders from Kainai and Piikani Nations; the Siksika and the Blackfeet of Montana were not involved. When the government developed the storyline for the galleries, Brink approached the different Blackfoot communities. He contacted the neighboring Piikani Nation first, talking to the Elders, and met Elder Joe Crowshoe, who became his main consultant and assistant in the development of the centre (Brink 2008, 276). There was, however, much scepticism and rejection among most Piikani, as Regional Manager Ian Clarke remembers: “We first approached the Piikani, [. . .] but they were not interested. Once the Kainai had indicated their interest in the site, that drew the Piikani into the process and in the end they more or less took over” (Interview with Clarke 2011). When the site was designated, protection and development was taken over by the Government of Alberta that, according to Clarke, “took on that responsibility, I think, quite responsibly, [. . .] and did it with as much Native consultation as we think was required and as we hope they were satisfied with” (ibid.). Initially, Brink did not think of approaching the Kainai (Blood), whose reserve is about 50 kilometres southeast of the site, and the Siksika, located on a reserve about 80 kilometres east of Calgary. Reflecting on his strategy, Brink admits:

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I had not thought to include either of these two groups in my initial meetings and conversations about developing the jump. I simply assumed that, because of proximity, the Piikani were the one relevant band to talk to. This was perhaps the biggest mistake I made in my years working on the Head-Smashed-In project, and it was one that cost me considerable good will (2008, 282).

The Siksika did not seem to feel much attached to the Head-Smashed-In area, and with the success of the Treaty No. 7 Commemoration in 1977 they were pursuing their own vision of building a world-class tourist attraction at Blackfoot Crossing (BCHP 2020; Susemihl 2019). The neighboring Kainai, however, wished to be consulted as they considered themselves stakeholders in the jump and believed that “their people had built and used the buffalo jump every bit as much as the Piikani” (Brink 2008, 283). In the end, the storyline that would be told in the building was developed without the voices of the Kainai Elders, who did not always agree with the stories of their fellow traditionalists from the Piikani. This conduct raises questions of who has the right to interpret another culture and hence “gain authenticity for one’s case” (Braun 2007, 199). Clarke explained that after an initial consultation, the Piikani community was not convinced about the development of the centre, so Brink and Crowshoe approached the Kainai Nation: It is interesting that it was the Blood’s [Kainai’s] acceptance of [the concept] that allowed us then to go back to the Peigan [Piikani] with the information that Mr. Crowshoe and the Bloods were in favour of going ahead, and on that basis they changed their position. I expect they didn’t want to be left out of the process if it was going to go ahead anyway. So since we had the Blood’s blessing, and there is probably more rivalry among those bands than a lot of people understand, it seemed that Mr. Crowshoe, the Peigan, used the Blood band’s interest to draw the Peigan back in again (Ian Clarke, quoted in Onciul 2015, 91–92).

Onciul notes that “Clarke’s account of the purposeful manipulation of community rivalry may account for ongoing challenges Head-Smashed-In faces today, as issues continue around the balance of Kainai and Piikani perspectives and employment” (2015, 92). For Clarke, this seems to be a “harsh characterization” of the governments’ efforts to draw the bands into participation, stating that “in pulling in as much Indigenous participating as possible, I didn’t once feel I was manipulating them” (Pers. comm. with Clarke 2020).10 Indeed, during the process personal relationships developed that were meant to work for the ‘common good’ of the centre. Nevertheless, applying Smith’s ‘authorized heritage discourse’, these relationships represent certain structures of power and communication that need to be further explored. Joe Crowshoe,11 an Elder of the Piikani Nation, was instrumental in the development of the site. His grandson Quinton Crow Shoe, Site Marketing and Special

10 The Peigan Willie Big Bull became Clarke’s partner in the planning and design process and Clarke remembers them having “a terrific relationship” (Interview with Clarke 2020). 11 Joe Crowshoe Sr. (Aapohsoy’yiis or Weasel Tail; 1903–1999) dedicated his life to preserving Aboriginal culture and promoting the relationship between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people. Besides many other honours, he was awarded the National Aboriginal Achievement Award in the Heritage and Spirituality category, in 1998, for saving the knowledge and practices of the Blackfoot people (Grinder n.d.).

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Events Coordinator at HSIBJ today, states: “His lifelong mission was to share the culture and let people know around the world what we are here for [. . .] His dream came true when this Interpretive Centre was built, based on his principles and what he believed in” (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011). Joe Crowshoe dedicated his life to reconciling conflicts between cultures and his “wisdom and vision helped make Head-Smashed-In a place of understanding, tolerance and celebration” (HSIBJ 2020). While Joe Crowshoe “was able to negotiate his terms of engagement and what would and would not be shown within the exhibit” (Onciul 2015, 92), many Blackfoot were not comfortable with or rejected the decisions he made on their behalf. This, especially, applies to replicas of sacred bundles and a painted buffalo skull, which continue to be a point of contention at HSIBJ today (see Sect. 4.4.). Jack Brink, who was responsible for making the replicas, says about his influence on the inclusion of the replicas: I did push them a bit on having something in that building about Aboriginal religion. I was the guy that introduced replicas. I suppose that’s my Western culture coming through my bias, well better to educate [the visitors] than keep them in the dark. I didn’t grow up in a culture where you hide things because they’re sacred or ceremonial (Jack Brink, quoted in Onciul 2015, 92).

With the idea of telling a captivating and in some respect ‘exotic’ story to visitors, Brink did not consider it necessary to consult other Blackfoot Elders on matters of sacred displays. In an assessment of models for managing conservation areas through tourism that involve partnerships between Indigenous communities and government, Hassall (2006, 31) notes that the consultation process for developing the centre included involvement of Blackfoot Elders. While recognizing that HSIBJ is a governmentmanaged and operated site, Hassel claims that “this level of meaningful engagement with the Blackfoot Nation at the early stages of the centre’s development should prove invaluable in further strengthening the relationship with the wider Blackfoot community over time” (ibid.). This is only partially true, though. Today, Blackfoot Elders “are not actively involved in consultations about the site development” (Interview with Clarke 2011). While “they might have been involved in the early days” (ibid.), this has changed, as is shown throughout this chapter. Nevertheless, for the Blackfoot, the site has been of major importance, and it is tightly interwoven with their traditional beliefs and ways of life. To understand the importance of the site, however, a short historical and cultural background of the Blackfoot needs to be given first.

4.2

The Blackfoot and the Buffalo: History and Culture of a People and a Place

The English term ‘Blackfoot’ most often refers to the four members of the Blackfoot Nations known as the Blackfoot Confederacy or Niitsitapi (meaning ‘the people’) that today consist of four First Nations bands: the Kainai (Aapaitsitapi or Blood), the

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Piikani (Aapatohsipiikani, also called Northern Peigan or Piegan), and the Siksika (Siksikáwa or northern Blackfoot) in Canada, and the Blackfeet (Aamsskaapipiikani, also called Southern Piegan or Pikuni) in Montana in the United States.12 Historically, the Piikani can be categorized into a northern and southern division, Aapatohsipiikani and Aamsskaapipiikani (Piikani Nation and the Blackfeet tribe of Montana). This split, however, is an arbitrary one imposed by the international boundary between the United States and Canada (Bastien 2004, 9; Dempsey 2010). It is widely accepted that the Blackfoot emerged from the people of the Old Women’s Phase, A.D. 800–1700 (Bethke 2016, 30; Brink 2008; Zedeño et al. 2014).13 While the bands were independent, they were loosely integrated politically, having close social, ceremonial and kinship ties. Because the divisions often supported one another, many people referred to them as the Blackfoot Confederacy. The Nitsitapii also share a common Algonquian language. While over time each band developed slight variations, they almost lost their language when the government forced their children to attend residential schools. Today Blackfoot is taught in their schools, aiming at making the language and their culture strong again (Bastien 2004, 9; Glenbow Museum 2019a).

4.2.1

The Blackfoot: Their Traditional Culture and Way of Life

The Blackfoot14 refer to their original territory as Niitawanssin and to the landscape of the territory as Niitsisskowa (Lokensgard 2010, 16), both of which are intricately woven into Blackfoot culture and identity. Their traditional territory was vast, stretching from the confluence of the North and South Saskatchewan Rivers around six hundred miles south to the Yellowstone River in Montana, and from the Great

12

There are different spellings of the Blackfoot names. These versions have been borrowed from Bastien 2004. 13 The term “Old Women’s Phase” was first employed by Brian O.K. Reeves in 1983, referring to a specific archeological phase in Alberta and Saskatchewan (Magne 1987). 14 There exists a large corpus of scholarship on the Blackfoot and neighbouring northern Plains tribes, which focuses on a wide variety of subjects, including Blackfoot culture and society, and the introduction of the horse. Besides classic works by Arthur 1975; Catlin 1965; Denman 1968; Ewers 1955, 1958; Grinnell 1892, 1961, 1962; Haines 1970, 1976; Kroeber 1939; Lewis 1942; Lowie 1955; Uhlenbeck 2011; and Wissler 1910, 1912a, b; and Wissler and Duvall 1908; more recent works include Bastien 2004; Bethke 2016; Binnema 2001, 2006; Cooper 2008; Dempsey 2002, 2015; Dwyer 2011; Frison 1978, 2004; Hall 2015; Hämäläinen 2003, 2008; Lokensgard 2010; McFee 1972; McGinnis 1990; Rosier 2001; and Smyth 2001, among others. Blackfoot scholars have started writing about their culture and society, among them Bullchild 1985, and Crowe 2003.

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Sand Hills in Saskatchewan roughly four hundred miles westward to the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains (Blackfoot Gallery Committee 2013, 12; Dempsey 2010). Some historians believe that the Niitsitapi homeland was much smaller and did not extend further south than the Bow River. These inconsistencies in defining the Niitsitapi territory, however, reflect cultural differences in the perception of the landscape. A Euro-American perspective tends to look for clear boundaries; a Niitsitapi perspective, on the other hand, considers the distribution of resources. Clans camped in favoured areas, but would move to another place if the local resources were exhausted, and the territory identified by Niitsitapi included “the entire region to which they had access for food and other resources” (Glenbow Museum 2019c). The people lived nomadically by hunting game and collecting plants. They moved on a structured seasonal round through their territory, and relocations were dictated by the bison herds, weather, the seasons and the availability of resources. By moving camp frequently, the Blackfoot were very familiar with their territory. They knew every detail of the land, and their trails were well marked across the grasslands, linked in a complex pattern across the landscape. All moves were well planned and organized, and moving camp was mostly the responsibility of the women. They took down the niitoy-yiss (tipis), packed and loaded the travois, harnessed the dogs, and later horses, and led them to the next camping place. The men scouted ahead, ensuring that the route was safe. From November to March, the people moved into sheltered coulees and river valleys and into the foothills, along the Porcupine Hills, and up into the Cypress Hills, where water, wood and game were available. In summer, camps were a time for socializing and ceremonies. People also often traveled to other camps to see friends and relatives and have ceremonies. These social occasions were a chance to sing and dance, play games and tell stories (Glenbow Museum 2019a; Dempsey 2010). The band was the basic social unit of the Blackfoot. Varying in size from about ten to thirty lodges or from eighty to 240 people, bands were residential groups rather than kin groups, and members could easily leave a band and join another. Leadership was based on consensus, and a band leader was chosen for his skills, generosity and qualities as warrior. In addition, warrior societies acted as a police force, regulating camp moves and hunts. Membership in these societies was not based on kinship ties but purchased and crosscutting the bands. Within the band, men and women had different responsibilities. Women prepared the buffalo, elk and deer hides and made clothing or tipi covers from them; cleaning and tanning were difficult work and required great skill. The women also picked berries and collected camas roots and made and decorated clothes and moccasins, for which the designs were passed on from one generation to the next. The men were usually away from camp, hunting and keeping watch for intruders into the territory (The Blackfoot Gallery Committee 2013, 33–34). Throughout the year, bands would also converge for bison hunts.

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4.2.2

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Indigenous Buffalo Hunting on the Northern Plains

For thousands of years, buffalo shaped the North American prairie ecosystem and linked Indigenous peoples to the land. As a result, there exists a long relationship between the Blackfoot people of the Northern Plains and the bison of southern Alberta, and their traditional life centred on this animal. The bison provided the Indigenous peoples of the Great Plains with many of life’s requirements; it gave meat for food, hides for clothing, shelter and shields, sinew, bone and horn for tools, weapons and toys, and dung for fires (Brink 2008, 27; ACD n.d., 15; Glenbow Museum 2019a). The American bison (Bison bison), commonly known as buffalo, roamed the grasslands of North America in massive herds. This keystone species played many roles in grassland and forest ecologies. Acting as bio-engineers, bison affected plant communities, transported and recycled nutrients, created habitat variability and provided abundant food resources not only for species such as grizzly bears and wolves, but also for the people living on the Plains. From birds to amphibians, the bison lived in an ecological web of relationships that overhunting and other factors ultimately disrupted when the bison population collapsed.15 To the Plains people, the buffalo has also been the most sacred of all animals. This is reflected in many stories such as the story about iniskim, the Buffalo Calling Stone, which explains the buffalo’s origin. Iniskim were part of the original Beaver bundle, reputedly the oldest Blackfoot ceremonial bundle (Barsh and Marlor 2003, 580), and the stones are still part of sacred medicine bundles that are highly valued (Interview with Knowlton 2011; Zedeño 2008). Buffalo hunting was the primary subsistence activity of the Plains people, and their nomadic life was a consequence of their need to secure success in hunting. Since they relied on the buffalo, the Plains tribes developed highly efficient hunting techniques. Hunting methods of the Northern Plains people included stalking, surrounding, and eventually chasing on horseback, bison drives, for which they used the buffalo jump, and the bison pound (Brink 2008, 8; ACD N.d., 11; Arthur 1975; Brink 2016). The piiskan (buffalo jump) was the most sophisticated technique to capture and kill large numbers of bison. Using their excellent knowledge of the topography and buffalo behaviour, the bands killed their prey by causing them to stampede over a precipice. The injured animals were then slaughtered and butchered in the camp below. Blackfoot traditions assert that the people had acquired the knowledge to drive bison over long distances to elaborately modified deadfall jumps through an older hunting collaboration with wolves around 50 AD (Barsh and Marlor 2003, 572). To encourage the buffalo to run to the desired point of the cliff, hunters outlined drive lanes with piles of rocks or other materials, which led

15 For further information see Bamforth 1988; Blair et al. 2014; Bozell 1995; Knapp et al. 1999; Leonard 2016; McHugh 1972; Olson 2005; Reher 1978. For studies on bison behavior, see Arthur 1975; Fallon 2009; Hasselstrom 1998; Lott 2002; McHugh 1972; Olson 2005, 2012; Roe 1951; and Wheat 1972, among others.

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from the gathering basins and converged toward the jump-off point. At HSIBJ these drive lanes extend more than 14 kilometres from the gathering basin. The knowledge and skill required to construct a system that would be consistently useful despite annual fluctuations in bison movements are impressive. Among the northern Plains tribes, who depended year-round on the bison, the season of bison drives usually began in the fall of the year and continued throughout the winter (Arthur 1975; Zedeño et al. 2021, 55). The use of the jumps in the cold months helped preserve fresh meat until it was dried and turned into pemmican, a mixture of pounded meat, melted fat and dried fruit that was lightweight and could be stored for long periods of time. The people of the northern Plains stored up dried provisions for use when supplies of fresh meat were gone (Colpitts 2015, 1; Zedeño et al. 2021, 55). In late spring or summer, pounds were used to kill for immediate consumption. Knowledge of wind, weather, season, ecology and topography was necessary when attempting to attract a bison herd to the jump. This knowledge was passed down through generations of hunters, along with the rituals and ‘medicines’ necessary to be successful at bison hunting (Barsh and Marlor 2003, 573). Another important piece of knowledge was the fat content of bison males and females at different times of the year. Hunters aimed at obtaining the greatest amount of fat and targeted different sectors of the herd depending on the season (Brink 2008, 39). An intricate network of drive lanes helped hunters split the herd for this specific purpose (Zedeño et al. 2021, 55). To locate and collect the bison in the kill area, which required several days, swift young men dispersed widely, urging the herd to cumulate in a bowl-shaped gathering basin and direct them towards the kill sites, using an elaborate network of drive lane cairns (Brink 2008, 97–100; Reeves 1978). To start the drive, a ‘buffalo runner’ would “entice the herd to follow him by imitating the bleating of a lost calf” (ACD N.d., 8). Others, dressed in skins as wolves or coyotes, would follow the herd, urging it onward. As the buffalo approached the cliff, hunters would collect along the drive lanes and alarm the animals by shouting, waving robes and shooting arrows, thus starting a stampede that would force them over the precipice. This hunting method was not only dangerous for the buffalo runners atop, but also for those who waited below to spear and club the animals that had survived the fall (Bienen 2005, 238). These hunts drove not merely dozens, but hundreds of animals, and even over 1000 buffalo were reportedly killed at one drive (Krech 1999, 131). Communal hunts could yield thousands of pounds of meat. Depending on the quantity of meat, the distance to the camp and means of transportation, sometimes all the meat was used, and at other times the people butchered the buffalo ‘lightly’, taking tongues and humps only, or taking a few buffalo and leaving hundreds to rot where they fell (ibid., 132–34). Tongues were considered to be a sacred food and were dried for use in ceremonies such as the Sundance (Zedeño et al. 2021, 55). Over time, hunting methods may have changed. At certain sites, “hunters likely targeted only a few animals at a time and drove them off the jump, ensuring death in small-scale” and conducting “efficient [. . .] sustainable hunts” (Vawser and Schilling 2013, 29). On the whole, bison jumping appears to have been “a well-planned and highly managed activity” (ibid.).

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The drives were not always successful, though. Often the buffalo broke away through the drive lanes. The Plains people, however, were eager not to let any buffalo escape. They believed that bison possessed many of the same attributes as people and that they “were aware of the world around them, perceived the behaviour of humans, and recognized patterns of actions and their consequences” (Brink 2008, 157). Animals that escaped the fall had seen that they had been tricked and would help other buffalo avoid the trap (ibid., 158; Verbicky-Todd 1984, 120). Plains hunters, therefore, “tried to kill all the animals [. . .] because they had to ensure their own future and that of the generations to come, and ensure that bison would continue to be successfully tricked into stampeding to the brink of a cliff. It was not an option, not a decision of conservation or waste; it was the crux of survival,” argues Brink (2008, 157–158). Wounded and disoriented animals also posed a serious danger to the people at the site and had to be eliminated for the safety of the participants and the success of the kill. Communal hunts were of great importance not only to the subsistence of the Plains people, but also to their social and cultural life. Aside from providing essential supplies of food, fat and hides, successful communal hunting served a number of social purposes in Plains culture. It enabled the people to live together in large bands, which rendered them “less vulnerable to their enemies, and also facilitated the maintenance of tribal cultural traditions” (Verbicky-Todd 1984, 11). The hunt was an exciting event where families and friends were reunited, marriages arranged, stories and experiences shared, trade goods exchanged, business conducted, ceremonies held, songs sung and prayers offered. It was preceded by pre-hunt rituals and concluded with feasting and celebrations that often lasted several days. Many groups came together to work co-operatively to construct features to make these kills possible, which demonstrated power, and political leaders would disperse surplus meat to consolidate alliances and, thus, strengthen their empires (Kristensen and Donnelly 2018). Indeed, bison hunting and hunting techniques displayed a complex interplay of Plains peoples’ “cultural adaptations to the wide range of ecological variables that comprise the concept of the Plains” (Arthur 1975, 119). The introduction of new hunting techniques and new variables, such as the horse, guns and European goods, values and domination, then caused a large number of ‘cultural modifications’. Most significant in that respect were the overwhelming changes that took place during the last decades as the bison disappeared. The last buffalo jump was used by the Kainai in the winter of 1868–1869, and the last buffalo hunt among the Piikani reportedly took place in 1874 (Dempsey 2001, 606; Verbicky-Todd 1984, 133). Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump is one of many kill sites across North America,16 where bison were brought to their deaths; in Alberta and Montana alone there are 16

Other notable buffalo jump sites include Dry Island Buffalo Jump Provincial Park in Alberta, Ulm Pishkun at the First Peoples Buffalo Jump State Park in Montana, Madison Buffalo Jump, Camp Disappointment, and Too Close for Comfort Site (also known as Wahkpa Chu’gn) in Montana, Vore Buffalo Jump, Glenrock Buffalo Jump, and Big Goose Creek in Wyoming, Olsen-Chubbuck Bison Kill Site in Colorado, and Cibolo Creek and Bonfire Shelter (the southernmost site located in North America) in Texas (All About Bison 2019).

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more than 200 buffalo jumps. These sites can often be identified by rock cairns, bone fragments, stone tools and artifacts from processing sites and camps nearby.17 At HSIBJ, bison were first driven over the cliff around six thousand years ago – a time when no other buffalo jump in North America was being used (Brink 2008, xiv). The site was then abandoned, possibly for as long as two thousand years, and historians are unsure when and why people walked away from this “ingenious trap” (ibid.). About two thousand years ago, HSIBJ again became “a veritable cornucopia of bison killing”; indeed, “so rich in bones and artifacts are these more recent kill events that some have argued [. . .] that the great buffalo kills had evolved into ‘factories’, producing bison products beyond the immediate needs of the people, products destined for trade to distant regions of North America” (ibid.). In preparation for the hunt, men burned the grass in the adjacent gathering basin months in advance to encourage lush re-growth that attracted big herds (Kristensen and Donnelly 2018). There are also spiritual places nearby that relate to proper preparation and maintenance of this sacred landscape. Over the centuries, animal species changed, population rose and fell, severe droughts came and went, and the buffalo hunting described by authors such as Jack Brink is true to a period and a place. He argues that “the long view of archaeology teaches us [. . .] that nothing ever persists unchanged over great spans of time. Stretching over six hundred generations of Plains life, we should expect nothing less than an ebb and flow of different people and different cultural adaptations across the vast prairies” (Brink 2008, xiv). Archaeology, historical records and traditional Indigenous storytelling were drawn on in interpreting the buffalo jump, and Brink and other archaeologists claim the differences in artifacts found at the site are due to different people hunting. The Blackfoot, however, explain the differences with the adaptation of hunting techniques by their people over centuries (Interview with Knowlton 2011; Onciul 2015, 141), as will be further discussed in Sect. 4.5.

4.2.3

Contact and Colonialism

Although the first European traders did not encounter Blackfoot people until the mid-eighteenth century, horses – brought to North America by the Spanish – reached them via trade from the southwest between 1725 and 1731. The adoption of the horse had an immense impact on the social, economic, religious and spiritual life of bison-hunting society. It altered hunting practices, landscape uses, worldviews, rituals, social structures and the economic organization of the Blackfoot during the contact period. This, in turn, affected mobility patterns, territorial organization, the

17 For studies on buffalo jumps, see, for example, Agenbroad 1978; Bamforth 1987, 1988, 2011; Brink 2008; Bubel 2014; Davis and Wilson 1978; Forbis 1962; Frison 1967, 1970, 1971, 1973; Johnston 2006; Kehoe 1967, 1973; Kirkwood 2016; Kornfeld et al. 2016; Malouf and Conner 1962; Reher and Frison 1980.

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traditional nature and ideology of warfare and resource procurement methods, and marked a transition in modes of production from hunting and gathering to nomadic pastoralism (Bethke 2016, 43; also Ewers 1955; Frison 1971; Hämäläinen 2003). Before 1800, the Blackfoot had only limited contact with Europeans. They had established wide trading networks and traded with neighbours for horses, furs, mookimanni (pemmican), dry meat and other resources, independent of EuroAmerican influence (Bethke 2016, 71; also Binnema 2001; Innis 1999; Isenberg 2000; Lewis 1942; Lott 2002). The equestrian Blackfoot dominated their hunting area and the richness of bison in the region allowed them to continue to sustain themselves (Dempsey 2010). They were relatively independent and their culture thrived, maintaining a nomadic, bison-centric lifestyle while creating new social, economic and cultural practices in response to the horse and access to trade goods (Bethke 2016, 71–72; Dickason 1980, 62; Tovias 2011, 3). By the late eighteenth century, though, the Hudson’s Bay Company and the North West Company had constructed trading posts on the periphery of Blackfoot territory with the trade being managed by Cree and Assiniboine middlemen (Bethke 2016, 74). The fur traders were welcomed for the new tools they brought and, with their own ingenuity and creativity, the Blackfoot altered many items to make them useful (Glenbow Museum 2019a). As more Naapiikoan (white people) came into their territory, however, changes happened that the Blackfoot could not control. The newcomers built permanent forts and brought alcohol18 and diseases such as smallpox, and thousands of people perished.19 This dramatic population decrease resulted in a breakdown of families and bands and brought about changes to Blackfoot society (Bethke 2016, 84; Binnema 2001, 125; Denman 1968, 84–86). Bands started camping around the trading posts and working as hunters or trappers (Denman 1968, 84–86; Bethke 2016, 77). At the same time new and powerful esoteric organizations such as the Horn Society were born out of the need for finding new medicine to cure diseases (Bethke 2016, 77; McHugh 1972). By 1800, after all, an era of increased warfare and territorial expansion of the Blackfoot had started. The gun and the horse had become military necessities as political conditions changed and existing patterns of warfare, trade and diplomacy intensified (Binnema 2001, 87; Bethke 2016, 78). In the following decades, trade relations increased and the bison trade developed. A new demand for bison robes gave the Blackfoot a commodity that they could easily supply and which, in turn, placed greater demands on female labour (Raczka 2011). For the heavy work, men needed more wives, and polygyny developed among Blackfoot bands, with men having between three to eight wives. It also provided the Blackfoot a level of affluence previously unknown, allowing the men to purchase Trade ‘whisky’ – a mixture of alcohol, pepper, gunpowder, and other toxins – was among the most significant trade goods, and many died from (alcohol) poisoning (Glenbow Museum 2019a). 19 The first smallpox epidemic reached the Northwestern Plains in 1781 and two-thirds of the people from all Plains communities perished (Bethke 2016, 77; Binnema 2001, 120). Another major smallpox epidemic struck in 1837, killing two-thirds of the Blackfoot population – more than 6000 people (Dollar 1977, 38). 18

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more guns, which enabled them to be more successful in raiding and warfare and to acquire more horses that could, in turn, be used to acquire more wives (Bethke 2016, 85–86; also Dempsey 2001). After 1870 the character of the bison trade changed again, as interests shifted from bison robes to hides. The development of a new tanning process that made hides suitable for use as industrial belts created a growth in demand for bison leather to support the Industrial Revolution in the East. The completion of the Union Pacific Railroad tracks in 1869 supported this change with cheap transportation (Bethke 2016, 86; Denman 1968, 88). The processing of hides for their leather required little skill, and the Blackfoot were confronted with competition from White settlers who engaged in buffalo hunts to profit from the hide trade. The promise of easy profits created a ‘hide rush’ where bison were exploited for commercial trade, ensnaring the Blackfoot more deeply in the capitalist economy that would force the overhunting of their valuable resource (Bethke 2016, 86–87). At the same time, bison habitat was under the added threat of increasing feral horse populations (Lott 2002) and the rapid encroachment of White settlers on their territory. Furthermore, non-Indigenous hunters were hired by the U.S government to kill off the bison in Montana so that the Blackfeet would remain on their reservation (Denman 1968, 101; Bethke 2016, 88). By the late 1870s, very few herds were found in the prairies north of the Cypress Hills, and, according to the Blood Winter Count recorded by R. N. Wilson, in 1880 the buffalo were “no more” (Bethke 2016, 88). By the early 1880s, the bison were almost extinct on the Plains (Dempsey 2010; Friesen 1984, 184). The bison’s sudden disappearance had immediate detrimental effects on the Plains people’s physical and spiritual well-being. Without the bison, the Blackfoot were no longer able to sustain themselves and became increasingly reliant to survive on White traders’ goods and services and on government rations, which were often spoiled or failed to arrive at all (Bethke 2016, 88; Tovias 2011, 25). A period of upheaval followed, “marked by a complete dependence on the government and policy making in both the US and Canada that focused on the retraction of land and autonomy from Native peoples in order to facilitate Western expansion” (Bethke 2016, 89–90). Exhausted by disease, starvation and decades of fighting, the Blackfoot put up only a weak resistance against Euro-American settlement. Confronted with increasing new settlers and the disappearance of the bison, the Blackfoot had few options and sought cultural and political protection in the enclaves set aside within their homelands (Dempsey 2010). When, in 1855, the Niitsitapi chief Lame Bull signed a peace treaty with the US government, goods and services were promised in exchange for moving onto a reservation. In 1874, however, the US government unilaterally broke the terms of the treaty and changed the Niitsitapi Reservation borders. In response, the Kainai, Siksika and Piikani moved to Canada and only the Pikuni remained in Montana. In 1877, the Canadian government met the three bands, along with the Tsuu T’ina, and Nakoda people, to sign Treaty 7 at Blackfoot Crossing in southern Alberta. Yet the Blackfoot leaders – Sitting-on-anEagle-Tail-Feather of the Piikani, Crowfoot of the Siksika, and Red Crow of the Kainai – did not understand that the government was taking all rights to their land. Following the signing, the Blackfoot bands were confined to reserves on both sides

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of the 49th parallel, meaning an end to their nomadic way of life (Bethke 2016, 98; Dempsey 1978, 23; Hämäläinen 2003, 853). Central to the resettlement effort and new government policies in both Canada and the United States were programs of forced assimilation that meant to restrict or eliminate traditional Indigenous practices and have the people adopt a EuroAmerican lifestyle, which ultimately led to striking changes in Blackfoot social organization (Bethke 2016, 91; Denman 1968, 103). Accordingly, in 1898, the government dismantled tribal governments and outlawed the practice of traditional Indigenous religions. Moreover, many government officials and missionaries called for the complete eradication of Indigenous cultural practices, believing that the continuation of traditional practices was preventing the acceptance of Christianity and civilization (Tovias 2011, 25). This conquest of the Indigenous peoples and the decisive destruction of their lifestyles were, as Bethke (2016) puts it, “viewed within a deterministic perspective – as an inevitable consequence of Euro-American advantage” (99). Assimilation efforts also often resulted in corruption as local authority was passed from tribal chiefs to Indian Agents, who were commissioned by the Department of Indian Affairs to carry out the national Indian policy of the time. Its programs focused primarily on making Indigenous people self-sufficient, and it was understood that the adoption of an agricultural lifestyle would be the best way to do this, regardless of local soil and environmental conditions or the Blackfoot’s opinion towards farming” (Bethke 2016, 100; Dempsey 1978, 24–25). With the implementation of agricultural programs during the 1880s, the Blackfoot were expected to adopt an agricultural lifestyle under the guidance of the Indian Agents (Bethke 2016, 100; Glenbow Museum 2019a). Drought and a worldwide depression, though, made it hard for them to become successful farmers. Likewise, in an attempt to integrate Indigenous youth into Canadian society and both educate and convert them, residential schools were created by Christian churches and the Canadian government. Blackfoot children were taken away from their homes and required to attend these schools, where they were forbidden to speak their language, practise traditional customs or wear traditional clothing. As a result, the children soon began to lose their connection with their families and cultures. More than anything else, the residential schools disrupted lives and communities, causing long-term problems among Indigenous peoples that persist to this day (Miller 2012, 2017). The confinement of the once nomadic Blackfoot “onto permanent rural communities altered their social environment so significantly that many traits characteristic of the nomadic horse culture period in Blackfoot history were swiftly abandoned” (Bethke 2016, 101; also Ewers 1955, 336; Tovias 2011, 25–26). Paradoxically, while the programs of forced assimilation caused the loss of many aspects of traditional Blackfoot life ways, they also served to strengthen the identity of the people as they fought to resist absorption into Western culture. This can be seen both in the active persistence of traditional religious institutions and the adaptation of customary practices to fit into a new way of life. During this period many traditions such as sacred bundle ownership, medicine ceremonies for buffalo hunting and the Ookáán (Sundance) were discouraged or even outlawed (Bethke 2016, 101; Raczka

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2011, 15). Despite these predicaments, the Blackfoot continued to practice their traditions in secret, and traditional religious institutions played an essential role in the continuing vitality of Blackfoot culture in the face of dramatic change and adversity (Tovias 2011, 16). The Blackfoot nations have, thus, been able to retain much of their traditional culture up to the present.

4.2.4

The Blackfoot Nations Today

Today, the Siksika, Kainai and Piikani Nations live on reserves in Alberta and their American kin on the Blackfeet Reservation in Montana. The Piikani First Nation, the smallest Blackfoot tribe to sign Treaty No. 7 in 1877, lives closest to Head-SmashedIn Buffalo Jump, with the northern border of the reserve a mere kilometre south of the site. Their Piikani 147 Indian Reserve is an area of 430.16 km2 between Fort Macleod and Pincher Creek and the smallest of the three Blackfoot reserves in Canada. They number approximately 3900 tribal members today; about 1900 of them live on reserve,20 while another 1600 live in urban centers such as Lethbridge and Fort MacLeod, for reasons of education, housing or employment. The Kainai First Nation (or Blood Tribe) has a population of 12,800 (Kainai First Nation 2017; BTDH homepage); yet, the number of people living on reserve is much smaller. With 4600 inhabitants21 on 1414.31 km2, the Blood 148 Indian Reserve, established in 1883, is the largest reserve in Canada (Brown and Peers 2006, 19), and its administrative centre and largest community is Stand Off. The Siksika First Nation, the most northerly member of the Blackfoot Confederacy, occupies a territory east of Calgary around the Bow River which flows through the heart of the reserve. With a band membership of nearly 7000, the Siksika treaty home is the Siksika 146 Indian Reserve, with about 3700 people living on 696.56 km2 (Siksika Nation 2019).22 Their administrative and business districts are located adjacent to the Town of Gleichen. South of the American border, the Blackfeet Nation occupy part of the upper Missouri River drainage basin in northwest Montana. The Blackfeet Indian Reservation was established in 1855 and is home to 17,321 members (Blackfeet Nation 2019). More than 10,000 of them live on reserve, most of them in its main community of Browning (Associated Press 2011). The population of all three reserves in Canada is rather young, with an average age of 28 years. The average household size is 3.8, and of 400 families on the Piikani reserve, there are 170 lone-parent families (Statistics Canada 2017a, b, c.) Most of the residents are registered or ‘treaty Indians’, but many also claim European origins. The majority are Christian (Catholic, Anglican or Pentecostal), while less than 20 percent follow ‘traditional Aboriginal spirituality’, and less than a quarter of 20

In 2016, 1544 people lived at Piikani 147, compared to 1217 in 2011 (Statistics Canada 2017b). In 2016, 4570 people lived at Blood 148, compared to 4679 in 2011 (Statistics Canada 2017a). 22 In 2016, 3479 people lived on Siksika 146, compared to 2972 in 2011 (Statistics Canada 2017c). 21

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the people speak either Blackfoot or another Indigenous language (e.g., Cree) at home (Statistics Canada 2013a, b, c, 2017a, b, c). Social conditions on the reserves are strained. Employment is limited and the official unemployment rate ranges between 18 and 27 percent, although the unofficial rate is much higher. Most people are working in local or provincial government branches of health care and social assistance, in public administration (including band offices), educational services, construction, retail trade, transportation, warehousing, waste management and remediation services as well as in agriculture, forestry, fishing and hunting (Statistics Canada 2017a, b, c). Furthermore, access to education is limited due to social circumstances. While approximately 40 percent have received a postsecondary college diploma or university degree, almost half of those 25 years and over have not acquired a high school diploma. Blackfoot politician Edwin Small Legs laments about this challenging social situation: “Today my reserve is 90 percent unemployed. No hope. And what they left me is a situation where I have to swim backwards, upstream, trying to get these people up their feet, and it’s not going to happen” (Interview with Small Legs 2011). With limited employment opportunities and education, the income level is below the Canadian average.23 The infrastructure reflects the social circumstances: The majority of houses are untended, have broken windows and are generally in need of major repairs, the roads are gravel roads (Statistics Canada 2017a, b, c).24 Politically, the Blackfoot nations are governed through elected Chiefs and Councils and the Treaty 7 Management Corporation, which provides advocacy and advisory services. The Blackfoot Confederacy itself is a source of political momentum, with conferences held among member nations that aim to facilitate greater collective organization and influence. Member nations have also independently negotiated and achieved some victories with provincial and federal governments with respect to self-governance, self-determination and land claims, among other issues (Dempsey 2010). The Kainai, for example, have negotiated an agreement on child welfare with the government, and the Siksika Nation is in the process of developing a framework for self-government which will define and control the Nation’s own destiny and remove it from jurisdiction of the Indian Act (GC 2003; Piikanii Nation 2023; Siksika Nation 2019). Furthermore, all three nations engage in a variety of activities within their reserve lands, from ranching and agriculture to spiritual and recreational activities. Economic development requires well directed investment. With poor oversight of funds being channeled into the reserves, however, there has also been misconduct and corruption. In 2003 the Piikani Nation received a $64-million federal settlement 23 In 2015, the median individual income was about 15,500 CAD, compared to 33,920 CAD in the rest of Canada, and 41,770 CAD in Alberta. Compared to the median total family income in Canada of 80,940 CAD and of 100,300 CAD in Alberta, the median family income at the Piikani reserve is not even 42,000 CAD, with 150 households having an income of less than 30,000 CAD per year (Statistics Canada 2017b, 2018a, b). 24 Personal observations during my visits of all three Blackfoot reserves in 2011 and 2012 confirm this.

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(Narine 2002) for a dam project, most of which was sunk “into an investment corporation that made a series of questionable loans to band-owned businesses and has since filed for bankruptcy restructuring” (McMahon 2014). The National Post reported on the case, claiming that “Chiefs refusing to take responsibility for troubles on reserves is just as standard” (Linin 2008, n.p.). While “Ottawa sent another $450,000 in housing assistance to the reserve in 2006 [. . .] there are 500 Piikani still waiting for such houses [. . .] and the band insists it cannot afford to fix the ones it has” (ibid.). In 2011, the Nation was “in dire straits with a law suit for money that they’ve been given”, which was mismanaged (Interview with Brown 2011); other cases followed.25 Cases of mismanagement and corruption have been heavily debated and condemned among the Blackfoot, the reasons for which can be traced in large part back to colonialism and Indian policy. On the Blackfoot reserves, there are two different groups that were created “by design,” as Stan Knowlton explains: “[T]he Department of Indian Affairs [. . .] selected the group of people that was going to become privileged. And once they’ve set that up, these people just continued to operate as if Indian Affairs was still there. Once you’ve corrupted that group, then that’s where all this in-fighting starts” (Interview with Knowlton 2011). Edwin Small Legs, who served on the Piikani tribal council (Houck 2010, 70), criticizes the tribal leaders for their “favoritism”: They are putting [the money] in their pockets. That’s been happening for a long time now. When they have somebody that talks, they condemn him. [. . .] What I hope above all, in the long run, that there is no more dirty politics. On the reserve we have gone through hell and back, several times. Why – and this is to my own people – why are you guys putting us through that? [. . .] Can you go where you want to go on that reserve? [. . .] As we talk, I can bring you to the youth gangs and you can see them for yourself. [. . .] We are tired of my people filling the jails, the tears are gone; there are no more tears. I cry; it’s only human. I see it – I see suicide, I see the drug lords, I see the gangs – you have to be strong (Interview with Small Legs 2011).

A century after the Blackfoot signed a treaty with the government they began to take control of their lives again. Today, the Blackfoot Nations are vibrant communities that emphasize traditional culture in education, wellness and healing programs and in other aspects of daily life. Developing their own educational system, they began to find ways of being equal with the non-Indigenous. The Siksika, for example, opened Old Sun College in 1972, the Blackfeet Community College in Montana opened in 1974, and the Piikani built a high school on reserve in 1986. Besides, the Kainai built the Blood Tribe Irrigation Project in 1994 to provide money for health and education projects. Many Blackfoot people still rely upon ranching and farming, but they also operate businesses in resource extraction and tourism (Dempsey 2010; Glenbow

In December 2013, the first female Chief of the Piikani Nation, Gayle Strikes With A Gun, was removed from office as she was accused of “nepotism, conflict of interest, and interference with managers” as a result of “her reaction to Health Canada not renewing the contract for medical transportation to Peigan Taxi,” a medical transportation/taxi business owned by Strikes With A Gun’s sister Pam Wolf Tail (Healy 2014). 25

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Museum 2019a). In their further community development, the World Heritage site of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump can, therefore, play a significant role.

4.3

Operation and Ownership of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump

The preservation and interpretation of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump has become a focal point for the retrieval of Indigenous culture in the region. According to the 2014 Periodic Report to UNESCO, “the management and development of the site has become a partnership between the Blackfoot-speaking people and the Province of Alberta, and Blackfoot-speaking employees are engaged exclusively to interpret the site and their culture” (Clarke 2014, 5). Today, the Blackfoot play a major role within operational processes. However, they have no legal claim to the land of the site and still no substantial impact on the management.

4.3.1

Ownership, Management and Funding of HSIBJ

The World Heritage site of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump is owned and operated by the Government of Alberta with minimal Indigenous involvement in the executive decision-making process.26 Since 2019, the site has been operated by the Heritage Division of the Ministry of Culture, Multiculturalism and Status of Women, under the auspices of the Royal Museum of Alberta. With their operational budget, the management is responsible for the displays, exhibitions and interpretive programs at HSIBJ (CMSW 2020). For many years, the Historic Sites and Museum Branch of the Alberta Government Department of Culture and Community Spirit in Calgary had been responsible for HSIBJ, through which many personal relationships had developed. With administrative changes, however, new structures emerged and the responsibilities for HSIBJ were transferred to the Royal Museum of Alberta in Edmonton.27 This new administration and the 500-kilometre distance to the site has

26 There is a division of responsibility between different Alberta government ministries or departments. The physical structure of the building has been owned and operated by Alberta Infrastructure, which is responsible for utilities and technical equipment (Interview with Clarke 2011 and 2020). 27 To cut expenses, the Alberta government considered passing over the management of HSIBJ to a local organization. While the government would continue to support the site financially, the management would be turned over to local and regional communities. While this system has been applied to one of the regional heritage sites, the provincial government did not transfer the management of HSIBJ to any local organization, which would, according to Clarke, create “huge difficulties in terms of care and preservation” and seems to him “like abandoning our mandate in responsibility for its care and preservation” (Interview with Clarke 2011).

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proved problematic, as, more than a year after the new management arrangements were made, the new administrators had not visited the site and examined the administration, program delivery, marketing and other aspects to “better understand how we operate and the challenges” (Interview with Crow Shoe 2020).28 Indeed, there have been many changes to the operation and management processes within the past decade. For many years there was no board, society or process of formal Indigenous consultation in place, for example. This used to be different.29 For some years, a number of organizations, non-government agencies, individuals and government bodies were directly involved in the management process through the invitation of the province. This was achieved via the Minister’s Advisory Committee, a co-management parallel to the management of the government. The committee was comprised of the primary regional stakeholders and mandated to advise the Minister of Community Development on all matters of regional concern that were of direct interest to the site and its associated resources. Membership included representation from the Kainai and Piikani First Nations, the towns of Claresholm, Fort Macleod and Pincher Creek, the Municipal District of Willow Creek and two local land owners who had sold the land to the government. The committee was scheduled to meet quarterly with site and regional management and report its recommendations directly to the Minister for action, as Clarke explains: “They were to wrestle with all the issues [. . .]. Unfortunately, our ministers tended to ignore most of the advice, so the members of that committee got tired of it” (Interview with Clarke 2011; HSIBJ 2014). Finally, after a number of years of disuse, the committee was dissolved. Additionally, the Friends of Head-Smashed-In Society was involved in the management. It was composed of people from the communities, had a prescribed board membership, requiring participation from the two First Nations tribes and the three towns, and was tasked to operate locally for the purpose of assisting with and enhancing the interpretive responsibilities of site operation. Their relationship with the site was controlled by a detailed operating contract. The Executive Director of the Friends board had an office in the building and, to a certain extent, became part of the operation. However, the society vanished, due to expenses, changes in personnel, loss of a sense of direction, and interference with site operation. When the ‘Friends’ left, their positions within the operation were not filled, which created new challenges (Interviews with Clarke and Knowlton 2011; HSIBJ 2014). The Government of Albert is responsible for funding the operation of the building, salaries for the government staff, a small annual goods and services budget, and regional marketing, as well as maintenance and repair. There is no funding through the federal government, except the occasional grant, and there is no 28

One reason for not having inspected the site was the emergence and impact of the Covid 19-pandemic in 2020. 29 When I conducted interviews at HSIBJ in 2011, the Minister’s Advisory Committee and the Friends of Head-Smashed-In Society were not in operation anymore. However, the two bodies were still mentioned in the 2014 Periodic Report – Second Cycle: Section II-Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump (HSIBJ 2014).

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monetary support provided by UNESCO with an exception being a special interpretive gallery development. Since the opening, funding has constantly been cut, influencing the operation of the site, as Knowlton remarks: “In the beginning it was okay, but once the cuts started, problems appeared, because all of a sudden there was competition for limited resources, and that created deep conflicts” (Interview with Knowlton 2011). One reason for the recent affiliation with the Royal Museum of Alberta is also the downsizing of the expenses. The site itself generates revenues out of admissions, the profit of the gift shop, educational tours and a percentage of the café income, thus financing vehicles, communication, office and program supplies, marketing and contract staff.30 Funding, ownership and management also affect the marketing and representation of the site, which is also the responsibility of the provincial government. The most important marketing tools are flyers, Facebook, the website, billboards, participation in local events and word of mouth, as Head of Finance and Visitor Services Deloralie Brown states: “People hear our name, and then they google it, and that’s how they find out about us” (Interview with Brown 2011). Over the past decade, the HSIBJ website has changed a few times. While in 2011, HSIBJ was responsible for its internet presentation, the website is now administered by the government who use a corporate design for all heritage sites in Alberta. This caused changes to the content and even led to inaccurate information. In 2020, the homepage read: “HeadSmashed-In Buffalo Jump Interpretive Centre is a UNESCO-designated World Heritage site that preserves and interprets over 6000 years of Plains Buffalo culture. Through vast landscapes, exhibits, and diverse programming, learn about the cultural significance of this cliff to the Plains People” (HSIBJ 2020). This text is misleading, as it suggests that the Interpretive Centre was inscribed as a World Heritage site, which is not the case. In fact, the centre opened several years after the inscription of the site. This false information puts all emphasis on the centre, which is unfortunate, because it focuses visitors’ attention on the exhibitions and narrows the narrative of the site. The text also suggests that the surrounding “vast landscapes” might be included in the designation, but HSIBJ was not inscribed as a ‘cultural landscape’, which also distorts the storyline. While the UNESCO label does not contribute any funding, it plays an important role for tourism.31 Head of Regional Marketing Duncan Daniels asserts that “from a marketing perspective you couldn’t ask for a better name or a better logo, and then connect it to UNESCO,” as the label “provides credibility” and “says this is

30

In regard to numbers of budgets, expenses, and revenues in 2010 and 2011, in 2011, HSIBJ generated approximately 700,000 CAD in revenue, while expenses included 400,000 CAD for staff contracts, 20,000 CAD for vehicles and 70,000 CAD for marketing. Additionally, they received 12,000 CAD in donations given on the shuttle bus (Interviews with Brown and Clarke 2011). 31 Clarke convinced the department to change the name from Head-Smashed-In Provincial Historic Site to Head-Smashed-In World Heritage site (Personal communication with Ian Clarke 2020).

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important” (Interview with Daniels 2011).32 Deloralie Brown confirms this view: “It makes a difference [. . .] it means a lot to the visitors. Most of them come in knowing that we are a UNESCO World Heritage site. It’s on our information that we are right up there with the Egyptian Pyramids and Galápagos Islands” (Interview with Brown 2011). At the same time, however, the label discourages further development and change of the site, as discussed in Sect. 4.8.

4.3.2

Indigenous Involvement in the Operation and Management

Holding the majority of jobs at the centre, including those as site interpreters, the Blackfoot play a key role in the operation of the site. Since the opening of the Interpretive Centre in 1987, however, the involvement of Blackfoot people within the operation processes of HSIBJ has undergone many changes. While the site operates within the confines of government policy and protocol, “the site manager needs to think and act creatively to allow for meaningful involvement of Blackfoot Nation people at the site”, notes Hassall (2006, 32). This ‘meaningful involvement’ can take on different notions, and is also affected by the reduction of positions and changed responsibilities due to decreasing visitor’s numbers and financial cuts. While during the first years, the Interpretive Centre was open from 8 am to 6 pm and admission was free, today, the Centre is open seven days a week from 10 am to 5 pm and admission is between ten to 15 dollars (HSIBJ 2020).33 Due to high visitor numbers, 18 Blackfoot guides worked at the site in the initial years of operation. In 2005, there were only nine permanent staff employed, six of whom were Blackfoot guides (Hassall 2006, 29), and, since then, further positions have been eliminated. Currently, there are six governmental staff positions. Of those, the three positions of Site Manager, Head of Finances and Visitors Services and Head of Education are filled by non-Indigenous employees, and Piikani hold the positions of Site Marketing/Program Coordinator, Head of Interpretation and Lead Guide.34 Additionally, contract staff is hired35 as interpreters and employees working in the gift shop, at the front desk and in the office. For the summer (May to September), additional temporary employees are hired as interpreters, shuttle bus drivers and extra staff. Currently, there are five World Heritages Sites in southern Alberta, which is the largest cluster of UNESCO sites in Canada. Not all of them, though, carry the UNESCO label in their official name. Besides HSIBJ, the other sites are Dinosaur Provincial Park, the Canadian Rocky Mountain Parks (including Banff National Park and Jasper National Park), Waterton Glacier International Peace Park, and Writing-on-Stone/Áísínai’pi. 33 In 2020, the site of HSIBJ remained closed due to the Covid-19 pandemic. 34 The position of Head of Education has been vacant since 2019 (Interview with Brown 2020; CMSW 2020). 35 For the winter season of 2011/12, seven Piikani contractors were hired (Interview with Brown 2011). 32

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Since the employment at HSIBJ requires a driver’s license and a reliable vehicle, there are sometimes openings for non-Indigenous applicants, as many Blackfoot have neither a license nor access to a vehicle. The recruitment process used at HSIBJ includes criteria to specifically target Blackfoot people for employment as guides. While applications by non-Indigenous candidates are considered,36 Blackfoot staff is preferably hired as they are “what people want to see” (Interview with Brown 2011). Moreover, for the interpreters “it is also preferential if they speak Blackfoot, because visitors like to hear the Blackfoot language” (ibid.). At the end of each summer, the management has to decide who to keep on for the winter season, and the positions are “very transient” (ibid.). Besides permanent and non-permanent employment, HSIBJ also provides some extra business opportunities for local Blackfoot. Drummers and dancers of all three communities are hired for performances once a week and at special events, and art by local artists and crafters is purchased for the gift store. Many products sold in the store, however, are not produced by Indigenous people in Canada, but are made in other parts of the world.37 As can be seen from the employment policy, when it comes to operations, marketing and education programs, Blackfoot knowledge is taken into consideration and Blackfoot staff influence decisions within their position, as program coordinator Quinton Crow Shoe argues: It’s a place shared by the First Nations and the Government of Alberta, who are stringent in what they do here, because it’s tax payers’ money, and so we have to follow those rules. But at the same time it gives us the opportunity to share stories, knowledge, and ideas, to have input. Right now we are talking about redesigning the building, and [. . .] I’m very fortunate that as a First Nation, as an employee, I am involved in this process [. . .] Our input is being valued (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011).

In that respect, Crow Shoe sees HSIBJ as a facility co-operated by the Blackfoot people and the Government of Alberta: “We are telling the story, we are sharing the culture, and we are key players. We work here. It would be a museum otherwise. Not necessarily managing, but co-operating, and sincerely sharing knowledge and stories” (ibid.). Others disagree with this perspective and oppose the current ownership and management of HSIBJ, as the Blackfoot see the site as their tribal heritage. A number of Blackfoot people object to the idea that “the government is draining money out of the region and of Native culture” (Interview with Clarke 2011), and Blackfoot guide and politician Edwin Small Legs would like to see the site managed by the Blackfoot people:

In 2010, HSIBJ received 29 “Native and non-Native” applications, with Brown explaining: “But we hire preferably Native. We require that they have a driver’s license, and a clean driver’s abstract, and a reliable vehicle to get to work. [. . .] So that may allow an opening for a non-Native to come here and work. We had three non-Native girls working here this summer” (Interview with Brown 2011). 37 Established in 1976 as the first of its kind in Canada to manufacture authentic First Nations moccasins, mukluks and mitts, the Peigan Crafts Ltd. moccasins factory in Brocket closed in 2011, because of waning support in the community (Interview with Clarke 2011). 36

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If I had it my way, I would take it from the Alberta government and put it under the Native people, because it’s all about Native people, basically. [. . .] Yes, definitely, I would do that. I would get up and say, wait a minute, you’re making money off it, you’re making plenty of money off it, but who are you using as a stepping stone (Interview with Edwin Small Legs 2011).

However, neither the Piikani nor the Kainai have the means to operate the site on their own and there is disagreement among them as to who should manage and control the place.

4.3.3

Chances and Challenges of Working at HSIBJ

Working at HSIBJ poses a number of possibilities and problems for Blackfoot people. While the Indigenous communities benefit from a number of job opportunities and chances to engage in cultural practices, at the same time, they are facing certain challenges concerning, among others, the recruitment process, the amount of work and ways of working. The recruitment process, for example, which was originally conducted by the Friends Society, includes criteria to specifically target Blackfoot people. Previously, two Elders from the Blackfoot tribe served as observers on the recruitment interview panel as non-voting members. While not part of government recruitment guidelines, their role as observers “proved to be a positive means of relationship building with the tribe”, claims Hassall (2006, 31). This procedure, however, has been discontinued. Today, while staff is employed by the Government of Alberta, part of the management has been taken over by the Pincher Creek & District Historical Society (PC & DHS) who hires all contractors. The job descriptions for interpretive guide, shuttle bus driver and extra staff for visitors’ services are regularly advertised on the HSIBJ website. The job of interpretive guide – “an exciting and challenging temporary job opportunity” according to the job posting published by PC & DHS in 2017 – is demanding and the duties manifold. The salary ranges from fifteen to eighteen dollars per hour, “depending on experience,” which is the same as shuttle bus drivers and people working for visitors’ services are getting paid.38 Interpretive guides are hired for four months from May to August and required to work between 36 and 40 hours per week, including most weekends on a rotating schedule. The qualifications for the job are a high school diploma or equivalent, a valid driver’s license and a means of transportation to and from the site, as well as “strong verbal communication skills” (PC and DHS 2017, 2019, 2020, n.p.). The candidates must undergo a police security check at time of employment and be “willing and able to undertake some physical work,” including “some heavy lifting” (ibid.). Moreover, the candidates should have “knowledge of Blackfoot culture and an ability to speak or understand Blackfoot”

38

Within the past years, wages have increased from 14 to 15 CAD per hour (PC and DHS 2017, 2020).

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(ibid.). Experience in “presenting to large groups of people, and working with children of various ages” is considered an asset, and they should be “able to work with limited supervision, willing to learn and accept new ideas, and demonstrate initiative [. . .] and to reflect a professional attitude” (PC and DHS 2020). Above all, as the 2020 posting states, the candidate must act “as an ambassador of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump World Heritage site while maintaining a good sense of humour and performing all required duties in a positive, professional and cooperative demeanour in all interactions with visitors and coworkers including on-site supervisors and management” (ibid.). Duties, for example, are to: • deliver education programs, guided tours, presentations, special event programs and public programs on subjects represented in the building and upper and lower trails in a professional, accurate and pleasant manner to enrich the experience of visitors; • circulate through the building and along the [. . .] trails to answer questions and respond to routine visitor requests in a polite and helpful manner that engages the interests and participation of visitors to the highest standards of interpretation; • undertake traditional activities including but not limited to drumming, dancing, singing, games, and storytelling related to Blackfoot & Native Plains Culture; • operate the theatre; • assist with opening and closing the building in the presence of GOA staff only; • study and adhere (both to the letter and the spirit) to policies and procedures (ibid.). The job description puts an emphasis on interaction and communicating with supervisors and management in “a professional manner with a cooperative and positive attitude,” while the candidate has to “meet work schedule requirements in a timely and consistent manner” (ibid.). Regarding the “performance standards,” the PC & DHS 2017 job posting stated: Guides are evaluated on their thoroughness in performing duties, attitude, punctuality, dependability, ability to operate as a team player, initiative, mature judgment, relationships with coworkers, management and visitors, flexibility and willingness to learn. Practice of good hygiene and neatness is essential. Proper attire including clean jeans in good repair, walking shorts, uniform vest or Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump shirts (provided) as well as comfortable, close-toed footwear is mandatory (2017).

The mentioning of “good hygiene and neatness” as well as “clean jeans” in a job description may be understood as insulting, indicating that Blackfoot people, who are chiefly addressed, are not aware of professional attire within a working environment. Likewise, phrases such as a “good sense of humour” and performing duties in a “pleasant manner” create the impression that Blackfoot guides are not aware of professional behaviour.39 It also hints at past incidents of Blackfoot guides

39

Job descriptions posted for Pincher Creek for guest services agent or events coordinator in 2020 not specifically aimed at Indigenous people did not contain such references (see Indeed, https://ca. indeed.com).

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expressing their disagreement with the government’s management, operation and interpretation of the site. These phrases may also be interpreted as reflecting prejudice and stereotypes, revealing centuries-old, preconceived notions of the ‘dirty’ Indian (Hirschfelder and Molin 2018).40 While the job description has not changed much since 2017, in the 2020 posting the above mentioned “clean jeans” have, at least, been omitted and the position summary reads more objectively: You will help create a unique experience for visitors from around the world while show casing the buffalo culture of the Plains people and the rich archaeological history [. . .] You will provide accurate information about Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump World Heritage Site to visitors. You may also be asked to perform other duties by the GOA On-Site Supervisor (PC and DHS 2020).

The text also states that guides work under the supervision of the Government of Alberta, whose experts and superiors will guide and supervise their work and interpretations. All “accurate information” about HSIBJ that guides are asked to deliver to visitors are, therefore, provided by the government, not by their traditional education and background. Here, the ‘authorized heritage discourse’ speaks through the posting; officially, alternative knowledge is wanted but not valued as highly as ‘expert’ knowledge. For many Blackfoot it is difficult to stay employed at the site, though. There are several reasons for this, one being fairly low wages and high expenses for travelling to the site. Employees have to reach the site on their own, and as they get paid an hourly rate, “the shorter distance you come in, the more money you make,” explains Knowlton (Interview 2011). The Piikani Reserve is 47 kilometres away and most of the staff carpool to split travel costs. Usually, Kainai contractors are also hired, but only few apply. One reason could be the distance to their community, which is more than fifty kilometres away, and the fact that driving takes much of their earnings. This is also one of the reasons why there are no Siksika employees, whose reserve is two hundred kilometres north of the site. Knowlton explains: One of the big problems is because we are so far out and isolated, the travel expenses are very high. That’s the biggest complaint that we get from people that have to travel from the other reserves. People from up around Siksika would not even consider coming here because the distance is too far. The Blood tribe – we have many come through, but none of them have lasted (Interview with Knowlton 2011).41

Overall, Indigenous involvement depends on the personal commitment of individual people working at the site. Stan Knowlton, for example, moved from Brocket (on reserve) to Fort Macleod; he states: “I figured if I am going to be here, I have

40 On images and stereotypes of Indigenous people, as well as the commodification and appropriation of Indigenous cultures, see, among others, Acoose 1995; Berkhofer 1978; Bird 1996; Boehme 1998; Bordewich 1996; Carr 1996; Doxtator 1988; Francis 2000; Hill 1996; Hirschfelder et al. 1999, LaRoque 1975; Meyer and Royer 2001; Morrison 1997a, b; Stedman 1982; Susemihl 2007, 2008; Trenton and Houlihan 1989, and Vickers 1998. 41 Ian Clarke points out that Lorraine Good Striker of the Kainai (Blood) was Head of Interpretation for many years (Personal communication with Ian Clarke 2020).

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to cut down on the travel expenses. And you get tired. That’s two hours travelling time every day, and it catches up after a while” (Interview with Knowlton 2011). His move, however, has caused a distance from his community and certain services on reserve. For Blackfoot women it is especially difficult to work at the site. While some work at the cash register and in the gift shop and others put on traditional dance shows for tourists, they rarely work as guides. Working in shifts and on weekends is difficult for families and, often, they have to find child care, as Knowlton states: “We had two women, both of them left us. It’s hard to keep them. It’s a very demanding place. They like their weekends; we work weekends up here. A lot of times it’s very hard on families. They have children [. . .] One lady was coming over here, and after her expenses she was only making five dollars, but she was still coming over” (ibid.). The amount of work presents another challenge. As described above, cuts in funding also brought staff cuts, which meant more work for the remaining staff. Knowlton, who has been working at HSIBJ for two decades, states: I do what eleven people used to do. Some of those positions were under the advisory board; that was the way it was designed; all the policies reflected that type of structure. [. . .] We made adjustments to this operation. We are understaffed. But [. . .] they still expect you to operate the same way. [. . .] I’m supposed to be the Head of Interpretation, but I also ran the tipi camp. We do presentations [. . .], policy, consultation, transportation, warehousing stuff. There used to be people to do all this, but somebody has to do it (Interview with Knowlton 2011).

The job descriptions above reflect the enormous work load of interpretive guides, and over the years, “a lot of additions have crept in,” as Knowlton argues (ibid.). Furthermore, there are the ‘odd projects’ such as the participation in the annual Ford Macleod Santa Claus Parade, for which staff members design the HSIBJ-wagon and plan the logistics. While some see this as a fun activity and a way to present the site in the community, for Knowlton the organization is “a nightmare” (ibid.). Besides, there is storytelling, building fires, and other activities. On the whole, the guides have to be creative and talented in multiple ways. With their imagination, inspiration and commitment they have been shaping and influencing the operation of the site. This is, however, always done under close scrutiny and guidance of the site archeologist and historic sites staff, in an “effort to ensure that the First Nations people were authentically represented” (Pers. comm. with Clarke 2020). As HSIBJ is a government-run facility, government rules apply. Concepts of Indigenous protocol and time, spiritual values and traditional practices often have to be forsaken in favor of ‘Western’ management concepts, which makes working together sometimes challenging for both sides, as professor for Indigenous rights Catherine Bell emphasises (Interview with Bell 2011). Besides, there are requirements from the non-Indigenous management, together with occasional prejudices and misunderstandings, that add to the difficulty of working together (Onciul 2015). The Cherokee anthropologist Karen Coody Cooper remarks in this context: Whenever people of one culture work for people of another, misunderstandings will happen. When a minority group is managed by members of the empowered group, there are expectations by each of what the other will do. With misreading of body language, intolerance or requests derived from cultural need, and suspicion and mistrust, there is soon intolerable friction (Cooper 1997, 409).

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One issue in that regard is reliability and punctuality, which is reflected in the job descriptions for guides that list “punctuality” and “dependability” as performance standard. According to Brown, Indigenous reliability and punctuality are tested now and again: “When an Elder dies, everybody goes to the funeral, and everybody of the staff is gone” (Interview with Brown 2011). For Indigenous people, being on time is often challenging, as they are not only dealing with long drives from their homes to the site, but they also might not have grown up with the same concept or do not take is as seriously, as Brown states: I think the young people living on the reserve face big challenges in dealing with the non-reserve way of life. They grew up with, well, there was no such thing as a clock, there was no such thing as being somewhere at ten o’clock. It was just that when everybody was there, then it would begin. That’s something they have grown up with [. . .]. Here you are running a government facility. You want the Native employees – that’s what people come to see. It’s been four, five years of them slowly realizing that it’s teaching the Native way of life, but we are in a modern world, and so you have to be at work on time. You cannot just show up at ten o’clock, because that’s when you want to. We open at 10, I need you here at 9.30, and this is your job, and you are here to a quarter after five. You know, I think it was just their way of life. It was the way they grew up. If they want to be in this world, there are a lot of changes, a lot of challenges for them (Interview with Brown 2011).

While reliability and timeliness are inevitable aspects of running a major tourist site, this statement echoes stereotypical notions of ‘Indian time’, something Indigenous people supposedly have grown up with, arriving and leaving whenever the spirit moves you. The traditional Indigenous concept of time, however, involves respect for natural cycles, developments, protocols and relationships. According to Gibson (2011), it is “a Western idea” that people can control most circumstances and that life should be run by the clock and the calendar. Gibson argues that it would be a mistake “to take this traditional concept of timeliness and develop a misperception that contemporary Indian [sic] people are frequently late.” The Creek poet Sondra Ball is convinced that ‘Indian time’ is merely ‘human time’, as humans were not meant to keep exact times (Hopkins 2008). These different concepts of time need to be understood by the management. Furthermore, social challenges and other problems might add to arriving late for work, which does not only apply to Indigenous staff. Another issue is the payment for Blackfoot performances and expectations associated with it on both sides. While non-Indigenous staff presumes that the Blackfoot should be pleased and thankful to perform dances and exhibit arts and crafts, the Blackfoot see this as service and work for which they require payment. Brown states: Money is always a challenge for them. They won’t give you anything for nothing. They expect payment in some way for everything they do. Our dancers come and we pay them for their performances [. . .]. We have an Elder do the prayer; they get paid. Everything has money attached to it. And they don’t have a lot of money; there are not a lot of opportunities for them on the reserve (Interview with Brown 2011).

While the payment for an ‘expert’ archaeologist or historian to deliver a lecture is not questioned, payment for ‘services’ by Indigenous people does still not seem to be implicit in many cases. Often, prayers or blessing by Elders and their spending ‘time’ at the site are taken for granted and seen as something they should do ‘naturally’ (Onciul 2015, 222). Others, such as Ian Clarke, see the exchange of ‘goods’ or

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money for most interactions as “a natural part” of the relationship, and he states: “They can’t say they are not involved – not as a governance body, but if an Elder tells us something, we follow it; we don’t argue” (Interview with Clarke 2011).42 Daniels confirms this: “We are proactive in working with the Elders [. . .] at various stages and at any change that occurs they are involved” (Interview with Daniels 2011). Crow Shoe adds: “Any time we are doing things here we try to involve the Elders as much as we can: to have the building blessed, we bring in the Elders, for opening prayers we bring them is, and they are getting paid” (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011). Again, personal attitudes and approaches seem to shape the relationships, not necessarily official guidelines. Throughout decades, the management and staff at HSIBJ have tried to work together, according to Brown: “It’s two very different ways of life between the Native and the non-Native, and to try and bring them together is a challenge. But we’ve really worked hard on that in the last few years and we’ve had some really good outcomes” (Interview with Brown 2011). While this has been confirmed by the Blackfoot guides, they are not necessarily in a position to argue, as the following sections concerning the interpretation of the site further demonstrate.

4.4

The Interpretive Centre

To tell the story of the buffalo hunters of the Northern Plains and communicate the importance of the site, a state-of-the-art Interpretive Centre was built and opened in 1987 (see Fig. 4.3). Presenting part of the history of the Plains, the centre has been designed for visitors to travel from the past to the present to experience the buffalo hunting culture of the Plains people. Most attention, however, is given to the ancient practices of the buffalo hunting era and the Blackfoot utilisation of the buffalo during the 1800s. With the opening of the centre, the character of the site has changed, though, as the centre seems to receive more tourist attention than the surrounding landscape (Sandalack 2019, 175), which consequently limits the view of Indigenous history and culture that is communicated and shared at the site. When the centre was built, the emphasis was to be on using the site and building facilities for interpretation and public education; it was not intended to be a museum. Unlike museums, interpretation centres “do not focus on the assembly and study of objects, but on enabling visitors, through an educational process, to gain a better appreciation of the site’s natural and cultural values” (Sandalack 2019, 177). The Interpretive Centre at HSIBJ, Sandalack argues, is nevertheless a hybrid of museum and interpretive centre: as a museum it emphasizes “the preservation and display of artifacts including site features” as well as archaeological and material cultural objects, and as an interpretive centre, it elaborates “the history, evolution, multiple meanings and multiple values ascribed to the site, and opportunities for experiencing

42 When Ian Clarke, for example, received his Blackfoot name, he ‘paid’ the Elder in tobacco and blankets (Personal communication with Ian Clarke 2020).

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Fig. 4.3 The Interpretive Centre at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. (Photo by Susemihl)

it and learning about it” (ibid., 178). This dual perception causes several issues related to the centre and its functions such as representation, interpretation and Indigenous protocol.

4.4.1

Design and Structure of the Interpretive Centre

The Interpretive Centre is an impressive, seven-story building buried right into a cliff south of the jump site. To keep the impact to the spectacular landscape and the fragile archaeological deposits to a minimum, a section of the slump block was removed and the massive concrete structure was built into it and covered with soil and vegetation. This makes only ten percent of the total surface of the 9.82-milliondollar building visible. For his design – the idea of which was born in a bar, scribbled on a beer-soaked napkin – architect Robert LeBlond received the Governor General’s Award for Architecture in 1990 (Brink 2008, 263; HSIBJ 2015, 7).43 The

43 In 2020, the Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump Interpretive Centre was awarded the Outstanding Building of the Year Award by BOMA Calgary. The design was recognized for its unique features and energy efficiency. Because it is built directly into the hillside, the earth acts as insulation for the building (BOMA 2020).

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exterior of the centre resembles the surrounding rock outcrops in tone and texture, giving the impression the building was created by erosion. This theme of subdued sandstone hues is reinforced in the interior. There are no windows, but skylights above the displays provide natural light. While the architecture of the building is remarkable, it has some disadvantages. Many rooms, among them offices and rooms for programs, have no daylight. Employees working in these parts of the building are encouraged to regularly take breaks and go outside. Furthermore, the building has had some problems with heavy snow and water in the winter (Interview with Brown 2011). Within its 2400 m2 on five levels, the centre depicts and interprets the history and technology of buffalo hunting and the lifestyle, culture, mythology and ecology of the Plains people, supported by archaeological evidence. When entering the building, visitors are welcomed by the signature display of the cliff in a great hall. To explore the centre, they are encouraged to keep to a set route from the top to the bottom of the building and follow a path that presents information in linear, chronological order. Elevators take visitors to the top of the building where they can overlook the panoramic Plains.44 Upon re-entry, stairs allow them to descend through the exhibits to the theatre and back to the main floor and exit. Visitors are guided through the site, and, as Chew argues, “it is understood they will maintain a level of silent reverence; keep their hands at their sides unless the circumstance might indicate otherwise; and follow a carefully laid out path in order to properly receive the museological narrative and its intended meanings” (2015, 225). The different exhibitions and displays are arranged on a series of terraces. The exhibition of Napi’s World (level 1) explores the ancient ecology, geography, climate and vegetation of the Northwestern Plains, introduces Indigenous accounts of the origin of people, and describes how they learned to hunt buffalo. The exhibit Napi’s People (level 2) details the culture of an ancient way of life, including food gathering and ceremonies of Plains peoples. Using a topographic model of the gathering basin and drive lanes, The Buffalo Hunt (level 3) presents the story of how a buffalo jump worked, including an explanation of pre-hunt ceremonies, the process of gathering and driving the buffalo, and the kill at the cliff. The spiritual and ceremonial significance of the hunt is also explored. The exhibit Cultures in Contact (level 4) charts the decline of the traditional buffalo hunt and the changes in Plains culture with the arrival of settlers and the introduction of the horse, guns and European trade goods in the early eighteenth century. It also mentions the spread of epidemics that nearly wiped out the Indigenous population. Finally, a recreated archaeological dig, a slide show and film presentation at the exhibit Uncovering the Past (level 5) explores the science of archaeology and shows how people today study and learn about the past (see Fig. 4.4). Ending the tour with this archaeological dig 44

The elevator takes visitors to the top of the cliff, allowing them to initiate their visit to the site with a cliff top walk to the Kill Site overlook, with views up to the last stampede descent of the drive lanes, along the extent of the cliff, over to the Calderwood Jump site, to the kill site itself, down to the butchering camp, and the panorama of the prairie that includes the route down to the wintering grounds in the Oldman River Valley.

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Fig. 4.4 Archaeological dig in the exhibition at HSIBJ. (Photo by Susemihl; printed with permission of HSIBJ)

that represents Western science and the scientific approach to gaining knowledge and understanding may easily give visitors the impression that the past can best be read and understood by experts who have studied special techniques and methods. A late addition to the site is the permanent photo exhibition Lost Identities: A Journey of Rediscovery, which opened in 1999 and pictures Blackfoot people of different communities today. While the administrators tried to give it “a dedicated space because of the importance of the exhibit” (Pers. comm. with Ian Clarke 2020), it is not indicated on the visitor’s map and is somewhat hidden in a corner on the ground level. Supplementing the exhibitions, the ten-minute documentary film In Search of the Buffalo, featuring a re-enactment of a buffalo drive and related activities, is shown at the theatre throughout the day. Furthermore, a gift store sells Indigenous arts, crafts and souvenirs, and a cafeteria offers food and beverages. Additionally, there are rooms for programs, offices and facility rooms in the building, and the Joe Crow Shoe Sr. Lodge, dedicated to the memory of Joe Crow Shoe, provides a useful meeting space that can be rented. A major part of the visiting experience at HSIBJ and the reason for the inscription on the UNESCO list is the landscape. From the top of the building visitors can venture outside along a short paved trail that leads to an interpretive node overlooking the jump site. From here, they have spectacular views of the HSIBJ Cliff, the Calderwood Buffalo Jump and Vision Quest Hill to the north, the prairies to the east and the Rocky Mountains to the west. Beneath the cliff, visitors can follow an interpretive hike, inspecting the cliff and the camp and processing areas. This self-guided Lower Trail tour has markers along the way, referring to tipi rings,

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Fig. 4.5 At the Lower Trail, HSIBJ. (Photo by Susemihl)

the butchering area, the spring-fed creek area45 and the importance of water, small animals, grasses, shrubs and other plants as well as archaeological studies (see Fig. 4.5). While the exhibitions have caused much debate, as will be outlined below, the term ‘Interpretive Centre’ was also questioned, as some people connect the word ‘interpretation’ with language interpretation and linguistic issues, as Daniels explains: “Interpretation is a complex word; storytelling is easy for people to understand. They tell stories about how the buffalo jump would be organized” (Interview with Daniels 2011). Within the ‘authorized heritage discourse’, the word ‘interpretation’ also suggests the application of ‘expert knowledge’ to understand and explain the site and the nature of artifacts. While the Blackfoot would not use the word, as they have knowledge of their past, the name has never been changed and it, indeed, seems to fit the government’s approach to this site best.

4.4.2

Artifacts and Replica: A Discussion of Displays

Like its name, the interior and exhibitions of the Interpretive Center have remained the same since its opening, despite many discussions. One of the reasons for this is

Today, only rainwater flows through the creek because the spring was forever disrupted when archaeologist Barney Reeves used a dragline excavator to cut a 10-metre-trench (Pers. comm. with Ian Clarke 2020). 45

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Fig. 4.6 Signature display at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump Interpretive Centre. (Photos by Susemihl)

certainly that there is no curator who would dedicate their work to update and change exhibitions and grapple with issues of Indigenous representation and reconciliation (Onciul 2015, 138). The Interpretive Center, however, is not a museum, and therefore does not own and exhibit many original artifacts. Instead, most of the items presented are replicas, “authentic tools, made out of the real materials, but they are not old” and visitors can “handle them, smell and touch them, which is very important for connecting with the story,” as Daniels explains (Interview 2011). While there was some money for acquiring displays, most were given to the centre as gifts by the Piikani to enhance the exhibition or donated by local ranchers whose forefathers had collected the arrow heads and spear points generations before. The signature display at the centre is a replica of the killing cliff with buffalo standing at the top and an archaeological dig at the bottom (see Fig. 4.6). In order not to destroy the cliff, a cast of the nearby Calderwood jump was used for making the rubber cast. The buffalo in the display are leisurely standing at the top of the cliff, overlooking the area and grazing, but not running in a deadly pursuit (see Fig. 4.7). No animal is depicted falling over the cliff, nor are tourists shown a whole herd stacked at the bottom of the cliff, making the bison jump “‘safe’ for popular consumption” (Dorst 2007, 182). This presentation, according to Dorst, “aestheticizes the practice of driving bison over a cliff”, as it is not a representation of ‘real’ bison falling, “but a romanticized, visually arresting image of such an event”, which “helps to locate the practice in the remote, imagined past of primitive cultures” (188).

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Fig. 4.7 Buffalo standing leisurely at the top of the cliff

The details of this rhetoric reveal an interesting discourse that runs throughout the interpretive program of the centre. According to the American History Illustrated, HSIBJ is “representative of the North Americans’ ingenuity, of their understanding of ecological balances, and of their economical use of the land and its bounty” (quoted in Krech 1999, 123). This rhetoric of binary standards of buffalo hunting in the Plains has been used for decades, as Krech (1999) claims: “White people wasted and caused the extermination of the buffalo, whereas Indians were skilful, ecologically aware conservationists” (123). Since the opening of the centre over two million visitors have heard this message. Given that buffalo were of significant cultural importance for the Plains people, the animals have become “a symbol of contemporary relations to the environment” (Braun 2007, 192), and have been selected for “elevation to emblematic status in our collective iconography of traditional Indian lifeways” (Dorst 2007, 179). Being a World Heritage site and an institution of popular education, HSIBJ participates in the production and dissemination of these narratives and binary constructions “that constitute the unexamined conventions of a popular discourse” (Dorst 2007, 174). Sandalack further underlines the irony of the fact that the Indigenous culture and relationship with the buffalo “that was deliberately destroyed about 150 years ago is now glorified in a recreated display of the natural forms and process inside the interpretive building” (2019, 179), and “to intensify the visitor experience” the “emphasis” is on the drama and the jump. She asks if this manipulation of visitors’ emotions is “something that is

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positive, negative, or just a practical way of ensuring that the site is profitable” (ibid.). In combination with other displays and interpretations, this story certainly stresses a romanticised past and the exoticism of the Plains people’s ways of life. Another representative display is a tipi, displayed at the exhibition Napi’s People, next to a reconstruction of a ‘dog days’ travois and a number of artifacts which visitors are encouraged to handle. This ‘hands on’ approach to interpretation has been “a key element in the development of displays and programs throughout the Centre” (HSIBJ 2015, 4). With permission by Joe Crow Shoe Sr., the tipi was painted with a special design that goes back thousands of years and is connected to numerous stories and songs, according to Quinton Crow Shoe: “The story that goes with it has to be told – there is no embellishing, no distorting; it has to be told the way it’s told. You’ve got the female buffalo, the male buffalo, the morning stars, the night stars, the sun, the rolling prairies, and the story of the hidden buffalo” (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011). These stories, however, are not told to the visitors, but only mentioned as having value for the Blackfoot people. Initially, the tipi was an idea of the non-Indigenous management, set up as a space for storytelling by Blackfoot Elders. It has been used only rarely, though, as Clarke accounts: What we did was [. . .] I had our site staff and bought them bison skins, and they were interested in the traditional making and sewed them together into a tipi. It’s not authentic in terms of era, but it is bison skin; it’s tanned. [. . .] Then I had a display group do a landscape around it and a mural, and it was to be our Elders’ Corner, where the Elders were at the tipi or even in the tipi and available to tell the people stories. It was a wonderful idea, and UNESCO thought it was a wonderful idea, but I don’t think an Elder has ever told a story in that corner (Interview with Clarke 2011).

When a UNESCO representative came for the opening of the centre, one of the Blackfoot Elders was invited to do the storytelling inside the tipi, and Clarke recalls: “We sat inside the tipi and he told us stories. It was a wonderful experience, we both sitting in the tipi and then this marvelous man telling us stories” (Interview with Clarke 2011). The idea of the tipi as an evocative place for storytelling did not prevail, however. One reason for this might be the artificial setting that does not convey much about the significance and meaning of a tipi46 to the visitors, but instead reinforces romantic ideas about Plains people. The major problem of using the tipi, though, is cultural appropriation (Brant 2017), as the tipi was not set up by the Blackfoot for their own purpose, but by the government for reasons of visitor satisfaction.47 Other items in the exhibition are replicas of two medicine bundles and a painted skull. One medicine bundle was made by Joe Crow Shoe; it belonged to his family and its spirituality “is still very much alive” (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011). The At the Blackfoot exhibition “Niitsitapiisinni: Our Way of Life” at the Glenbow Museum, Calgary, a tipi is the signature display, and visitors learn about the making of, decorating of, and everyday life in and around, a tipi. 47 There has been a trend in interior design to set up indoor and outdoor tipis for children which has caused much debate in terms of cultural appropriation (e.g., MacLellan 2014). 46

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display of a medicine bundle is criticized, though, because its ‘replica’ status is questionable. Medicine bundles are sacred for the Blackfoot, and protocol requires that they can only be handled or kept by Elders who have the rights and knowledge, gained through years of participation in sacred societies. Joe Crow Show had the cultural right to work with bundles, “but as a result some community members felt that this meant he could not make a replica” (Onciul 2015, 92). The argument was that “either a person does not have the right to work with bundles and therefore could not produce a replica as they would lack the knowledge; or they do have the rights, but then they would make a real and active bundle” (ibid.). Many community members today feel that bundles have no place being on display as they are believed to be powerful sacred items (Interview with Bell 2011). One of the most remarkable and precious objects at HSIBJ is a buffalo skull painted by Joe Crow Shoe and gifted to the centre. According to Quinton Crow Shoe, who remembers his grandfather handling the skull, it needs to be treated with respect and requires special care: “Once a year the sweet grass has to come out and needs to be replaced; you have to smudge48 and purify it. It’s breathing; it has a soul” (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011). The amount of prayer and smudging at the centre, however, varies depending on the spirituality and traditional authority of the people employed at the centre. One year, the annual renewal ceremony for the skull, which includes allowing the skull to be handled by appropriate Elders, was interrupted, which is problematic for Crow Shoe: That’s the thing that hurts me most: it’s not being nurtured like it’s supposed to be [. . .] Go down to the pond, take out some new grass, have Elders come and say prayers [. . .] We are so caught up in mainstream things [. . .]; at the same time the flavour of interpretation changes. The previous person belonged to the buffalo society, and along with that comes responsibilities [. . .] Today our interpretation leaders are more educated in science, and the culture takes a back seat (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011).

Today, the sacred skull has become the symbol of HSIBJ, more so than any other object. Images of the painted skull are frequently used in educational and marketing material such as on billboards and merchandise, and Jack Brink used it on the cover of his book about the site, which has been a cause for controversy amongst the Blackfoot. Many disagree with the use and exhibition of the skull, but Clarke explains that Joe Crow Shoe, who painted it, gave permission for its use in promoting the site: We had some Native people who say that it should never be used in any images, because of spirituality. The one thing that allows us to use it, we think, is Old Joe Crow Shoe’s intent in the first place, and Jack [Brink] is the holder of that knowledge, and his point was, I don’t want this to be used for a commercial gain, I want it to be used to promote the site and to attract people to this site. That is the way we use it. We use it on posters, to advertise the place [. . .] Crow Shoe – one of his big campaigns was to bring cultures together, to better understand Native culture, and that’s really a big part of what Head-Smashed-In should be doing (Interview with Clarke 2011).

48 Smudging is traditionally a ceremony for purifying or cleansing the soul of negative thoughts or for clearing negative energy from objects or places (ICTINC 2017, n.p.).

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Fig. 4.8 Wall painting at HSIBJ, depicting women at the camp and processing area. (Photo by Susemihl, printed with permission of HSIBJ)

In an attempt to respect the sacred nature of the buffalo jump and some of the items that are on display like the painted buffalo skull and the replica bundles, a space has been created where smudging and prayer can take place without disturbances. These adaptations, though, have not been practiced consistently and HSIBJ management has not always acted on the advice of the community. Yet, the management has tried to acknowledge cultural restrictions about photographing sacred items and have requested visitors do not photograph the sacred skull (Onciul 2015, 138), which is difficult as people see the skull being used in other media. Besides these specific displays, there are wall paintings in the building that illustrate the life of Plains people and the stories of buffalo hunting. However, only few representations of Blackfoot women can be found in the exhibitions (Susemihl 2020). One mural depicts a camp scene at the foot of the jump (see Fig. 4.8). The women in the painting are shown in a crouching position, working at a fire pit and scraping hides, or carrying firewood and setting up tipi poles in the background. There are only few women depicted and the camp looks deserted. Considering their positions and size, they appear fragile and almost lost within the landscape. Moreover, they are depicted wearing inaccurate clothing, as Knowlton explained: “Women would never have worn clothes exposing their shoulders; that would not have been considered appropriate” (Interview with Knowlton 2011).49 With their long, black hair and exposed cleavage, tanned and slender, they appear Pocahontas-like, and the whole scene is the imagining of a non-Indigenous artist. The accompanying text reads:

49 After the government realized the error, they tried unsuccessfully to get the artist to change the clothing.

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People gathered fuel, mostly buffalo chips (dry buffalo droppings), but sometimes wood. Stones for boiling water had to be collected. Later they would be heated in fires and dropped in water-filled skin-lined pits for boiling meat. Water would also have to be found and brought to the camp. The camp and processing area would be prepared by making hearths for heating boiling stones and digging pits for boiling water. People would sharpen stone tools for butchering the meat of the hunt (Exhibit HSIBJ 2012).

The text is as problematic as the visual image. Women are not mentioned, only “people,” although the tasks described would typically be performed by women. There are also no explanations of the roles of Blackfoot women or their powerful positions within the community. Considering that HSIBJ is a major tourist attraction, the message that visitors receive is that Blackfoot women did not seem to play major roles in the past.50 In addition to using displays and texts, the centre frames its interpretation of the past by directing visitors to watch an orientation film. Set one thousand years ago, the film In Search of the Buffalo depicts a Blackfoot buffalo hunt at a jump. The actors are local Blackfoot people and the dialogue is in Blackfoot with English subtitles. For the film, a frozen buffalo carcass was pushed over the cliff and an authentic looking tipi camp was erected on the flats below the cliff (Brink 2008, 284–287). Shot with consultation of Blackfoot Elders concerning the script and the visuals, the Elders indicated that the film was not to be used commercially except on site. The film ends, underscoring the detailed description of the use of a jump in the exhibit and firmly locating the interpretation in the past (Onciul 2015, 132), with the only reference to living Blackfoot culture at HSIBJ being presented in the photo exhibit, a wall on the visitor’s pathway that is dedicated to artwork by Blackfoot youth, and the presence of Blackfoot staff.

4.4.3

The Development of the Narrative: Authorized Interpretation and Knowledge

Predominantly, the exhibits are narrated in an ‘authorized’ Western scientific voice, reflecting the status of the real-life author of the text panel, namely the archaeologist and long-time curator of the Royal Alberta Museum, Jack Brink. He developed the interpretive matrix of HSIBJ, and his book, Imagining Head-Smashed-In (2008), is advertised on the HSIBJ homepage. Former site manager Terry Malone explained the process of composing this ‘matrix’: Ultimately the matrix was written by professional people from the ministry. In other words, our scientists, our heritage people, our historians dealt with the Elders and the discussion; and they pulled all the amalgamated material together and laid it out, with a consensus that it

50

The Blackfoot Gallery at the Glenbow Museum, Calgary, presents a diverse picture of Blackfoot women, explaining their different and vital roles in Blackfoot society and giving them a strong voice (Susemihl 2020).

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represented the themes and discussions that had taken place. It wasn’t signed off, but it essentially had the agreement of all parties (Terry Malone, quoted in Onciul 2015, 93).

In this quote, the words “our scientists, our heritage people, our historians dealt with the Elders” suggest governmental authority and limited conversations. While working to deadlines “in no way affected our consultations with the Elders like Joe Crowshoe,” as Ian Clarke stresses, the administrators made it clear “that the lead agent in creating the storyline would be the archaeological investigations” (Pers. comm. with Clarke 2020). For Indigenous people, dealing with storytelling and interpreting the past is a much more complicated matter, though, which must follow strict protocols. Moreover, sacred objects have to be treated with respect and many are not to be exhibited at all.51 When planning the exhibition, Brink remembers: Doing it right to the Niitsitapi was nothing like what a young and idealistic archaeologist thought it meant. I was treated to a litany of instances where museums had gotten it wrong: artefacts placed facing the wrong direction [. . .]. It was a list of which I was completely unaware. It told a story of a people who had been excluded from decision making about the telling of their heritage; a people who could only look in from the outside and shake their heads at the mistakes made, and who, quite reasonably, must have wondered why someone simply didn’t ask them (Brink 2008, 175).

Brink and the Government of Alberta assured the Elders that they wanted “to do this right, in their sense of the word” (ibid.) and consult them. When the creators of the Interpretive Centre asked Blackfoot Elders for information on bison hunting, the Elders told a number of Napi stories52 in which Napi makes a fool of himself. In the stories, while trying to become human, Napi gets into trouble, because he does not listen when Kipitaki (Old Woman) and the animals give him advice, as Napi just follows his own impulses and desires. Barsh and Marlor (2003) remark that Parks Canada personnel did not understand the significance of these stories; they write: “Like Napi, the Elders were hinting, Park scientists were not prepared to listen carefully or take Blackfoot knowledge seriously as empirical science” (ibid., 571–572). While the ‘experts’ missed the meaning of the stories, they were also not aware of their role as government representatives, as Brink recounts when approaching the Elders: I entered the Head-Smashed-In project with all the training of a scientist who studied the dead and none of the preparation needed to deal with the living. [. . .] While I knew a fair bit about the more ancient aspects of Blackfoot history, I knew next to nothing about the contemporary situation on reserves, especially with respect to dealing with representatives of government. My first shock was the discovery that I was a representative of government (Brink 2008, 273).

51

For Blackfoot knowledge and ways of knowing, see Bastien (2004). Napi (Old Man) is the culture hero of the Blackfoot. He is frequently portrayed as a trickster and foolish troublemaker, but he is also a well-intentioned demigod responsible for shaping the world of the Blackfoot people, and would frequently help the people or teach them important knowledge (Glenbow Museum 2019b). 52

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The Interpretive Centre

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Confessing ignorance for the contemporary situation of Indigenous people, the statement reveals a great deal of self-importance and authority and is deeply rooted within the ‘authorized heritage discourse’. While the current administration is aware of the present situation on the Blackfoot reserves, this knowledge is not communicated at the Interpretive Centre, and discourses in the exhibition still reflect Western authority. The ‘experts’ have been regarded as stewards of the past, in control of interpretation and the narrative, according to Knowlton: There is always someone who is the expert. That’s the one that is listened to all the time, the experts, not the person that knows things – that’s the way it should be. It’s just a person that’s been recognized as some kind of authority. Maybe somebody gave him a headdress and slapped him on the back and gave him an Indian name and this guy is the expert. He might not know anything, but that’s the expert (Interview with Knowlton 2011).

This ‘grand narrative’, written from a scientific, non-Indigenous point of view, and narrated on panels accompanying the displays, is “the official story that goes out here” (Interview with Knowlton 2011). Blackfoot voice, on the other hand, appears in a momentary, fleeting way throughout the exhibit, as words and sentences written with light onto the floor. “They fade and strengthen depending on the sunlight filtering into the exhibit [. . .] and if you inspect them too closely they disappear as the visitor blocks the beam from the light projector,” observes Onciul (2015, 129). She argues that “this implies to visitors that Western archaeologists have the facts which are presented in an authoritative and permanent way, whereas the Blackfoot have stories which are ethereal and evanescent” (ibid.). Indeed, there is “nothing that grounds the Blackfoot narrative and gives Blackfoot voice museum authority” (ibid.), except the voices of the Blackfoot interpreters, as the next section shows. Exploring how these motion-triggered projections locate and secure visitors within the official heritage narratives, Chew (2015, 2016) furthermore argues that these motion-sensor projections act as “externalized proprioceptors,” sensory receptors which recognize bodily position. Using proprioception, i.e., the awareness of the body’s position in and movement through space, they “sense and respond to the body’s movements through the historical-archaeological narrative” (Chew 2015, 223), and in that way situate visitors physically and affectively within an ‘immersive heritage landscape’, which again reflects authorized voices throughout the exhibition. Additionally, with the opening of the Interpretation Centre, the focus shifted from the landscape to the stories, and the interpretation of the site seems to be more important than the landscape or site itself. Asking whether it is possible, through design, “to truly respect a landscape” or whether the act of intervention is also an act of destruction, Sandalack writes: “Despite the efforts to make the building defer to the landscape and be subservient to the site experience, the building, and especially its interior, seems to be the main feature” of HSIBJ, which “likely confounds any efforts to nurture a sense of place” (2019, 168). As a ‘sense of place’ might be “too complex, too important, and too interesting to be confined to what could be

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communicated only through an exhibition” (ibid., 175), many landscape historians and geographers53 advocate exploring the landscape and learning to read it. At HSIBJ, however, visitors tend to spend more time within the building than in the landscape, because the film, the dioramas, the gift shop and the restaurant are “tantalizing pieces of entertainment that offer strong inducement to visitors to stay inside, rather than venture outside on the cliff and paths and experience the site itself” (ibid.), which limits the experience and storytelling of the place. Moreover, as the landscape has been recognized as sacred and in need of being protected and preserved, the paths that visitors are encouraged to tread through these grounds are restricted, which has become part of the storyline, as Chew argues: From the narrow winding paths in the upper and lower trails, visitors are invited to merely glance at the wonder of the surrounding landscape, while keeping all limbs within the delineated zones. These constricted paths are not unlike the severe manner in which national subjectivity is sutured; tracing the landscape enacts the carving of a single story through a palimpsestic, conglomerate landscape. In this perambulatory tracing of the landscape – a process whereby one ‘settles’ oneself amidst the scene – colonial history is also actively relegated to the distant past through the anachronizing glean of heritage (Chew 2015, 225).

The visitor who moves through this landscape and site, thus, becomes “a subject who, like a triumphant prospector-archaeologian, stands above the fray of history as ‘postcolonial’ citizen,” according to Chew (ibid.), which again limits his opportunity of perceiving the place in its complexity and developing an understanding for its Indigenous values and meanings.

4.5

“It’s all Part of the Story”: Blackfoot Voice in Narratives and Storylines

The various and somewhat controversial and competing narratives of the Blackfoot as ecologically sensitive people, stereotypical Indians, people of the past and contemporary custodians of their cultural heritage are communicated through the experience and interpretation of the site and the centre and by the stories told there. These narratives are strongly affected by and dependent on ownership and control of the heritage, community involvement and visitor expectation. This is also reflected in the exhibitions and guided tours. The official interpretation at HSIBJ is that of an archaeological site, scientifically excavated and interpreted by ‘experts’, i.e., archaeologists, historians and anthropologists. This narrative is complicated and enriched by the presence of Blackfoot guides who present a Blackfoot perspective. Supplementing and developing the ‘authorized’ texts, at times, they counter and challenge the information presented in the text panels and the grand narrative. This leads to the question: Whose narrative is being told at the site and what is the core message?

53 Authors who have stressed the importance of experiencing the landscape and learning to read it include Hoskins (1955), Jackson (1984), Relph (1976), and Watts (1957), among others.

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The ‘Core Message’: Whose Story Is It?

Heritage sites are both mirrors and shapers of culture and peoples, as they are key locations where “identity politics and efforts to (re)claim culture and history play out” with “the power to remember and forget” Onciul (2015, 3). For the interpretation of a site, it is important to know whose stories are told, what the message is, and what elements of the message relate to a ‘grand narrative’ of the site. The site of HSIBJ has been used by many different people, such as Blackfoot and settlers. Consequently, the site presents complex issues as it deals with the many different activities that occurred at the place, the different cultures that inhabited the region, and the different communities that used the site at various times and might still be utilizing it, and the conflicts among those cultures. HSIBJ also deals with a relatively recent past, and the descendants of those who were once inhabitants are still living and have knowledge of and interest in the place and landscape. At the site, therefore, various concepts of interpretation clash, such as Western science versus Indigenous culture and the past versus the contemporary. While many stories are remembered, others have been left out, and the site today largely reflects the values and interests of the community that controls it. Several different Indigenous groups used the site over thousands of years; the most recent were the Piikani and Kainai tribes. Beginning in the 1850s, Europeans moved into the region to hunt the buffalo and settle the land and most of the region became privately owned and ranched. When in the 1970s the site was designated as a historic site, the dynamics of land ownership changed yet again. As a result, there is discrepancy among the various stakeholders involved with HSIBJ today about whose story is being told at the site and what the core message is (Interviews with Clarke and Daniels 2011; Sandalack 2019, 175). Initially, there are two different sides to the character of interpretation: there is the management who are characteristically non-Blackfoot and have tended to view the centre as primarily an archaeological site, which the Blackfoot people and their history supplement and enrich, and there are the Blackfoot community members who are employed in interpretations who encourage the involvement of other community members and Elders. The Government of Alberta and the ‘expert’ archaeologists explain that the jump has been used for thousands of years, and the people who used it first were not the Blackfoot, but other Plains people. In their view, it is “a Plains people’s story,” as Clarke puts is: “We have the evidence of migration into the site, even from the BC interior; numerous people came together to use the site cooperatively” (Interview with Clarke 2011). Duncan Daniels explains: The story of Head-Smashed-In predates Blackfoot; it’s Plains people. That’s something that Ian [Clarke] being our Elder historian is continually reminding us; it’s sinking in. But it’s really important. It’s not a Blackfoot story, but it’s really a Plains peoples’ story. It’s so old, and we don’t know what occurred six thousand years ago. How were the Plains people organized? What did they call themselves? We don’t know that (Interview with Daniels 2011).

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The question as to whether the jump was used by the Blackfoot or other ethnic groups is an open one, though. For the Blackfoot, the site has always been part of their cultural narrative. Whether the Blackfoot of today are ‘recent arrivals’ or not is controversial and stands in opposition to traditional Blackfoot knowledge and oral history that locates the Blackfoot in the region for time immemorial (Onciul 2015, 141), as Kainai Elder Narcisse Blood notes: Blackfoot have always been there. It is difficult for me to reconcile that you are going to make some conclusions or theories based on the base of [arrowhead] points in archaeology and say that these are Clovis people, these are Sandia people. They have all these phases and cultural groups that are based on an artefact. Because the technology changes it is very dangerous to say that they weren’t Blackfoot. That just doesn’t make sense. Then who were they? (Blood, quoted in Onciul 2015, 141)

Recently, scientific evidence has supported the Blackfoot account of the past. A discovery of human remains in Montana dating from the Clovis period (13,000 to 12,600 years ago) has been identified through DNA testing as belonging to a “population directly ancestral to many contemporary Native Americans”, as Rasmussen et al. (2014, 225) state. They further claim that “contemporary Native Americans are effectively direct descendants of the people who made and used Clovis tools,” and the “findings do not support the hypothesis, based on cranial data, that American populations around the time of Clovis were subsequently assimilated by more recent migrants who were the ancestors of contemporary Native Americans” (2014, 228). This is a direct scientific challenge to the idea put forward by the government that the Blackfoot were ‘recent arrivals’. Furthermore, a study on Arctic peoples has shown that the Paleo-Eskimo technological innovations and changes through time, as evident from the archaeological record, seem to have occurred solely by movement of ideas within a single resident population. This suggests that cultural similarities and differences are not solid proxies for population movements and migrations into new and dramatically different environments, as is often assumed (Raghavan et al. 2014, 1020).

Through this line of argument, Blackfoot interpreter and historian Stan Knowlton accounts for the difference in the arrowhead points found at the buffalo jump “not as different ethnic groups, but as hunting adaptations made to accommodate the reducing cliff drop, due to the increasing level of buffalo bones building up at the base of the jump through its thousands of years of use” (Onciul 2015, 141). Technological innovation was, according to Knowlton, a response to changing circumstances rather than evidence of different ethnic groups using the jump. Such findings suggest a depth and wealth of Indigenous knowledge that has not been recognized until recently (ibid., 142). For the government, though, the ‘authorized’ story of the past is told at the site within an archaeological frame, as Daniels states: “We’ve had to frame what is our storyline, and help our staff to understand: this is what is interpreted, this is what the message is, and this is what is not covered at this site” (Interview with Daniels 2011). To understand and follow this ‘authorized’ story, the Blackfoot guides receive formal training through the Government of Alberta, for which they regularly involve community Elders, as Clarke describes:

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Because we are staffed with Blackfoot people, and their tendency is to talk about Blackfoot culture instead of going back and being grounded on these core values [. . .] they get trained, and luckily Jack [Brink] goes down there and does training every year and brings those values into the place in person. We’ve got staff that defeats this training, which goes against what they want to achieve (Interview with Clarke 2011).

The Blackfoot guides, however, present alternative Blackfoot explanations for scientific accounts such as the movement of the glacial erratic, highlight inaccuracies in Western depictions of the buffalo hunt and the representation of Blackfoot women, and in some respects they complement and even partly recreate the official storyline.

4.5.2

Filling in the Blanks: Blackfoot Recreating the Story

At HSIBJ, Blackfoot guides have been institutionalized as the only cultural group to do interpretations. Daniels explains that, in accordance with the management, they do “first-person interpretation”: “When they say I, I as a Blackfoot Indian, this is what my ancestors did; this is what we still do today; so it’s not someone being not authentic” (Interview with Daniels 2011). For specific programs, the guides “may even sing a song, using a hand drum: He is Blackfoot, it’s a Blackfoot drum, and he sings a Blackfoot song” (ibid.). While the Blackfoot are being ‘authentic’, the government seems to be torn between the scientific interpretation and Blackfoot culture that people want to see and experience. When the guides take visitors on a tour through the building, generally for 1–1.5 hours, they follow “a standard script that has been developed by the government experts,” as Knowlton explains: “The script is okay, if you go through the building and read all the texts. When we are doing our official tour guide stuff, we are basically replacing the text” (Interview with Knowlton 2011). The depth and intensity of interpretation depends on visitors’ interest and time, though, and can take from ten minutes to several hours, says Knowlton: There are occasions when you get people that come in and they don’t want the script; they want to hear the cultural side. [. . .] That’s when people come that are really interested; that’s the kind of information they want. [. . .] Sometimes your basic run takes about an hour, but once you get into that part, you can stretch out. Sometimes the stories can actually go quite long (Interview with Knowlton 2011).

Although a general guideline exists for teaching the programs, each Blackfoot guide approaches the topic differently and presents a unique personal insight into Blackfoot culture.54 While one guide, for example, explained that the Blackfoot “never had wars back then,” another mentioned that the Blackfoot were “a very war-type people.” And whereas official ‘text’ interprets the objects, the Blackfoot guides read

54 I participated in two guided tours through the building with Stan Knowlton and Kiit Kiitokii in October 2011.

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this ‘text’ with their own background. For them, there is much more to the objects than contained in the government’s ‘script’. Using their knowledge and understanding, background reading and research, the guides develop their own versions of history and culture, thus ‘reading’ and interpreting objects and ‘other texts’ differently and more thoroughly, as Knowlton describes: When you go through the building, there is more here – we call it ‘other than text’. Even though they are replicas they still create almost a text in your head, and if you understand the language and the stories, all you do is use those as reminders, and the stories come together. [. . .] A good example is the tipi. [. . .] A lot of people don’t realize what’s going on behind the scenes. [. . .] Just something as simple as painting a tipi: You just don’t go out and paint it. There is a whole protocol that comes with it; there are procedures that have to be followed (Interview with Knowlton 2011).

An object such as a tipi, for example, tells powerful stories that need to be interpreted and understood. In an interview, Knowlton relates how an Elder passed on stories about the tipi to him (see Box 4.1). When setting up a tipi, each pole and peg generates a story and every painting has a meaning (Gadacz 2012; Thybony 2003). These facts need to be related when exhibiting and talking about a tipi, otherwise it will remain superficial. In that respect, Knowlton and other Blackfoot guides are critical of the exhibition and the way the objects are interpreted and the stories told. When the Interpretive Centre was developed, the Blackfoot consultants had “maybe some idea of what they were trying to do, but in the end what came out may not have been exactly what they were hoping for,” according to Knowlton (Interview 2011). He disapproves of the incomplete and superficial storylines, and using his personal insight he gives a more complete story: When I go through the building I can see bits and pieces of the story. I generally go through and fill in the blanks from the way I was taught. It seems like everything is already there. It’s almost like a stage: there are all the props there, and it’s just a matter of going through and explaining what all the props mean, the deeper meaning behind them. Even the way the building was designed is quite helpful. At the very top, you’ve got the landscape. If you understand what the place names are, you got the sun out there – it’s part of the story. On some days you can see the moon – and it is part of the story. You see that there is really no separation between sky, the earth, the people, and the evidence, and everything in connected. Then you can start filling in the spaces in between, you start making the connections (Interview with Knowlton 2011).

Box 4.1: Stan Knowlton, “It all has a story that is behind it” When I was young, there was one of the Elders; I knew him, but I had never sat down with him [. . .]. One day they were having Indian Days at the Peigan reserve. I’m a morning person, so I was up early that morning. I just happened to be walking by, and there were grandchildren and relatives, and I guess he had instructed them the night before how to put this tipi up for him. It might have been dark, but I guess it went very badly. The tipi did not go up right. (continued)

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Box 4.1 (continued) Somebody had cut the poles to balance it out, and on the other side they dug a hole. In the end they didn’t get it up right. Sometime during the night the canvas had slipped down. When I was walking by, it seemed a little bit strange. I was walking around this tipi, looking at it, and wondered if it had had a rough night. It just happened that he came walking around the corner. He had his cane in the air and was kind of waving at me. I thought, “oh, I don’t want to get blamed for this”, and I was just about ready to run away when he called me over. He started asking me where the boys were [. . .] I pointed him into the right direction and started walking away. But he wouldn’t let me go. “No, you come along with me,” he said. We walked along, and he had his cane and started wailing at these guys. It was early in the morning, half of them weren’t ready. I think they were still sleeping. He got them all up, and they took the tipi down, and then he started putting it up. He turned around and pointed: “I’m going to tell you a story and I’m going to show you how it is done.” I couldn’t figure out why I was being told. I wasn’t closely related to him, and those were the guys that he should have been talking to. He started off, made his offerings, started to sing a song, and told us that there was a story of how a tipi goes up. I was beside him, and he said, “Get over here, stay close.” He was telling me all these stories, and at the same time he was directing everybody else. I was kind of scared and thought about why he was doing this. As he finished, each pole had a story, each peg had a story; the way the tipi went up had a story. It all has a story that is behind it. When the last thing went up, he turned and said that is how to do it and don’t you ever forget that [. . .] When I walk through the building and I see that tipi, those are the kind of stories that come up. For some people it just might be an eighteen-skinbuffalo-hide tipi that’s up there, but if you know the story behind it, it’s completely different (Interview with Knowlton 2011). Knowing the stories behind the objects involves knowledge that has been passed on from one generation to the next. Storytelling, thus, needs more than short texts on plaques; it needs knowledge and history, and the Blackfoot guides bring these together. Elders acquire knowledge and wisdom through a lifelong learning process, and at HSIBJ Piikani lead guide and Elder Conrad Little Leaf provides the other guides “with a cultural direction” (Interview with Knowlton 2011). The stories, however, are not only connected to traditions or the past, but also to contemporary Blackfoot life.

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The Past Versus the Present: The Importance of Telling a Contemporary Story

The Interpretive Centre tells a story of a past, but a selective past. Conflict-laden topics such as colonialism or residential schools are not mentioned, as the government does not consider this the ‘right place’ to tell that story. Clarke asserts: “[Those were] bad times, which are a national disgrace, and that story needs to be told, but Head-Smashed-In isn’t; it’s telling another story, because that deflects from the real story” (Interview with Clarke 2011). There is also very little reference to contemporary times. But stories of the past cannot be separated from stories of the present and must be told at the same place, as they influence each other, which in turn are powerfully connected with the future. At HSIBJ, certain ‘pasts’ and aspects of Indigenous history in Canada have not received a space in the exhibition. The interpretation of the past is, therefore, difficult for the Blackfoot guides, as they have to narrate the story of their peoples’ plight from the colonizer’s perspective. In their interpretations, they are expected to talk about traditional culture and lifestyle and leave out socio-political issues. On their tours, however, they point out historical and current problems along with challenges for their people such as alcohol abuse and residential schools, putting their jobs at the centre in jeopardy. Following the authorized script, the guides try to deal with the past individually, as Piikani guide Kiit Kiitoki asserts: I always interpret from a non-threatening point of view, especially when it comes to the sensitive points, the cultures in contact. Some people say, what happened to the Indians. I don’t like what our ancestors did to you guys, and I’m so upset. I said, well Sir, we don’t dwell on the past, our spirituality does not dwell on the past. Our strength comes from the knowledge we gain from those experiences, and we can still move forward (Interview with Kiitokii 2011).

The guides are trained “not to get into politics,” as Quinton Crow Shoe states: “We are supposed to stick to the buffalo culture and the buffalo jump, not really get into the social and political activity; it’s very hard to do that” (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011). When one guide mentioned the difficult past to visitors, he was asked to leave, as Clarke recalls: We’ve had guides who have been very strident with the visitors, telling them that they were guilty, responsible for all the ills in Native society [. . .] We had to deal with one person who was making visitors extremely uncomfortable with his accusations, with strident statements, and we actually removed him and told him to not come back to the site [. . .] I’ve put pressure on the management to make it a performance issue. This is why you’re hired; this is the message that is required at the site, which is an honorable Native message. You’re not to deviate; this is not a platform for the other messages, because it is not appropriate to tell those messages (Interview with Clarke 2011).

For the Blackfoot, however, colonial times and modern times cannot be separated. Issues such as residential schools are very sensitive, and it is difficult to omit them from the interpretation. Each guide has his or her reasons why he or she is working at the site and reasons for accepting the official ‘script’. Certain ‘pressure’ on the guides may lead to misunderstandings with the management. Moreover, while

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working together with a non-Indigenous administration, there have been cases of intolerance and prejudice, as Kiitokii experienced, having to deal with ignorance and discrimination from a former manager. He remembers: One time I was sitting in this office with one of the managers and he said we can fire all you guys and we can hire a bunch of White people and have them do the interpretation programs. It doesn’t matter, people will still be coming. And I said, well, okay, this is a great place to work and when the day comes, I’ll be sad to leave. But eventually he left. With the same breath he said, I don’t understand why you people are getting residential school money. My people, the Welsh people, they were harmed as well, and we didn’t get residential school money. This is a scientific building; it’s not a cultural building, so you need to interpret from a scientific point of view. He came right up to my face and said, no more Blackfoot; do not have those puppets speak Blackfoot anymore. I complied, because I was brought up never to disrespect an Elder or a supervisor. Therefore I said, I do respect that, however, I may not agree. But that’s what I did; I humbly backed to it. It’s a catch twenty-two; I still need to feed my family and my kids; I need to pay my bills. Self-righteousness is not paid. But I still worked along with what I was doing and found a way to work with him (Interview with Kiitokii 2011).

The contemporary situation of the Blackfoot has also been blocked out from the official narrative, even though there is a strong contemporary side to HSIBJ and its ‘story’. The Interpretive Centre and its architecture are contemporary. The guides wear contemporary clothes, and they speak English, not Blackfoot. Contemporary food is served at the cafeteria. There are modern services and amenities available, such as elevators and other facilities. Modern techniques and media are used in the exhibition, such as film, slides and specific lighting, and all the texts are written in English. Instead, the story that is narrated throughout the exhibition reflects a romanticized and stylized picture of the past, while the site hides behind its UNESCO designation. Having been inscribed for its buffalo hunting story, not for Blackfoot history, the storyline cannot be changed now, according to Daniels: The site being a UNESCO World Heritage Site is telling a core story about a buffalo hunting culture. That story – buffalo hunts – do not occur today. It’s a very special place, and there is a very special story, and there is a concern amongst the people in many communities that that story is deluded and is not longer Head-Smashed-In, but it’s a Blackfoot contemporary site. But people coming to that UNESCO World Heritage site want to learn about HeadSmashed-In (Interview with Daniels 2011)

The management thinks that the site should not be changed but be preserved “so that the experience in two hundred years would be the same,” as Daniels continues: The power of UNESCO is really strong, and the importance of maintaining the integrity is important. We can’t just develop components at the site that are not appropriate [. . .] It’s not that we don’t want to tell that story, but Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump is not the place where a contemporary Blackfoot story is to be told, and that’s appropriate (Interview with Daniels 2011).

Instead, Daniels refers to Blackfoot Crossing55 for presenting “the broader story about the Blackfoot culture” (ibid.), arguing that contemporary stories are

55

Blackfoot Crossing is situated on the Siksika Reserve, close to the location where Treaty 7 was signed.

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appropriate at a site where Blackfoot culture and history is presented from historical and contemporary views. In modern museology, however, museums are highly political places, as they represent power constellations and educate visitors about these constellations. The Government of Alberta and the managers of HSIBJ deny the political role of museums. The owner sets the rules and regulations for an institution and is responsible for the exhibitions and narratives. Ultimately, the owner determines what stories are being told, from what perspective, about whom, and to what extent. If the owner is non-Indigenous, the stories about Indigenous people will always include ‘othering’, as the stories are told from a third-person perspective, even though the guides apply a first-person perception on their tours. Keeping the site strictly archaeological means that the Blackfoot are portrayed as people of the past, and the management does not have to grapple with modern Indigeneity, to, perhaps, avoid dealing with issues such as colonization or reconciliation. Yet every place evolves. It is a misconception to believe that the site of HSIBJ will stay the same and that the story will remain unchanged. With every new director, according to Knowlton, “they shuffle the matrix, the operational structure” (Interview 2011), and with every Blackfoot interpretive guide the narrative evolves, which also impacts the educational programs. As heritage represents the past and present simultaneously, interpretation also needs to consider new ‘readings’ of the site, which includes the issue of animal welfare. While HSIBJ is a stunning site for showing visitors a way of life that was practiced for thousands of years, it is a site of horror for many people today, as they condemn the method of killing bison. An inclusive cultural landscape approach as discussed below that considers contemporary bison restoration projects would answer to visitors’ expectations and distresses.

4.6

Looking for “Authentic Indians”: Visitors’ Expectations and Education

Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump is a popular tourist attraction along the Cowboy Trail of southern Alberta. The scenic route along Highway 22 through the Rocky Mountain Foothills features horseback trail rides, guest ranches and farms, and Western-themed attractions, adventures, historic sites and shopping (CTTA n.d.). Tourists visiting this ranching country, nestled between the Rocky Mountains and the prairie, usually visit the World Heritage site of Head-Smashed-In with pre-conceived notions and misconceptions of Indigenous people (Interviews with Knowlton, Kiitokii, Small Legs 2011). The site of HSIBJ is, thus, of high educational value and significant in expanding visitors’ knowledge and understanding of Indigenous people. According to Conrad Little Leaf, it is a place where “booklearning meets real knowledge” (Kristensen and Donnelly 2018, n.p.). Despite the difficulties of narrating the various and competing stories, which “may be too complex, too comprehensive, and too much to expect from any one interpretive

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site” (Sandalack 2019, 163), there is great value in making the site available as educational experience for visitors.

4.6.1

Visitors’ Expectations and Experiences

With approximately 60,000 visitors per year,56 most of them coming between May and September, HSIBJ is the ‘flagship’ of the four Southern Alberta Historic Sites.57 Although visitor numbers have been declining58 since the opening of the Interpretative Centre in 1987, HSIBJ still receives the majority of visitors of all tourist attractions in Southern Alberta. While more than 50 percent of the visitors are Canadian and American, many tourists come from Great Britain, Germany, France, Australia, Japan and other countries.59 Many of them visit the site repeatedly; most spend about a day at the site. Deloralie Brown explains: We get lots of repeat visitors. I think they had a good experience with their first visit. And a lot of times they are travelling again with friends or their families. They would have been young coming in here, and now they have children and they want to bring them back, or they are bringing friends with them. We had a fellow from Germany this morning, and this is his second time (Interview with Brown 2011).

While most visitors first explore the exhibitions on their own, many book a guided facility tour that leads through the centre and the cliff top trail and introduces Blackfoot culture and history and the mechanics of the Buffalo jump. Tourists usually visit the site with certain expectations, which is especially true for Blackfoot culture. Many are looking for “authentic Indians” – a stereotypical image of the ‘Plains Indians’ as mounted warriors and buffalo hunters (Susemihl 2007, 2008), and they are sometimes disappointed with the “modern, non-authentic”60 guides, as site interpreter Kiit Kiitokii explains: They want to see the Indians; they want to hear the Indians talk. They want to experience the culture and somehow grasp some of it and take it home. They say it over and over again. And

56

Since 1987, there has been a decline in visitor numbers, from 150,000 after 1987 to 90,000 in 2001, then, to 75,000 in 2006, and to 60,000 in 2011 (Interviews with Brown and Clarke 2011; Hassall 2006, 29). 57 Besides HSIBJ, the southern Alberta Provincial Historic Sites include the Frank Slide Interpretive Centre, the Leitch Collieries near Crowsnest Pass, and the Remington Carriage Museum in Cardstone (GoA 2020). 58 Among the reasons for the decline in tourism, Brown mentions, are: 9/11, the recession and economy in Canada and the US, earthquakes in Japan, and the increasing price of gas (Interview with Brown 2011). 59 Precise numbers of visitors’ origin could not be retrieved. Upon entering the centre, visitors are asked where they are from, but the management lacks the resources to work with the figures (Interview with Brown 2011). 60 Person interviewed during a survey at HSIBJ in 2011.

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our superiors, the managers, understand that and respect it. There are people who don’t know what to do about it, but this is what they expect (Interview with Kiitokii 2011).

A survey on visitor satisfaction revealed that most important for tourists at HeadSmashed-In is authenticity (64 %), an educational experience about people’s current lifestyles (45 %), Indigenous ownership and operation (38 %), ticket prices (17 %) and entertainment (12 %) (Notzke 2006, 86). Other aspects mentioned concerning an Indigenous tourism experience are the “the relationship with the environment; quality of the product; a concern that tourism should not exploit or encourage selfexploitation and cultural degradation; learning about political issues; learning about spirituality; and meeting people” (ibid.). While the general degree of visitor satisfaction at the site is high, some criticism is directed at the absence of live bison and the desire for more personal contact with Indigenous staff (ibid.). Another survey conducted at HSIBJ by the author61 showed that one third of the visitors had been to the site before and was looking forward to see it again, including the building, the exhibition and the cliff site. For the majority (60 %) of the interviewed visitors the film was the most interesting experience. About half of the visitors questioned had had either a guided tour or spoke to the guides individually, finding the guides friendly and knowledgeable, with one visitor commenting on her tour guide: “How can one person know so much? I liked his delivery, his speech and language” (Woman, aged 40, from Calgary). This high degree of visitor satisfaction is confirmed by Deloralie Brown: Ninety-nine percent of our visitors’ reactions are very positive. They had a wonderful experience, especially if they had been fortunate enough to have Conrad or Stan take them on a bit of a personal tour, spend some time with them. [. . .] They love the building, they always ask questions. The visitors have a very good experience here (Interview with Brown 2011).

In terms of information and content of the centre and tours, most visitors felt that they received sufficient information on Indigenous history. While the majority said they received information on social and cultural history, they did not feel that they learned anything about political or economic history during their visit. To the question about what topics they would have liked to learn more about, most did not respond or did not know what else to ask for. Only a few people had specific questions concerning the natural history, the role of women in Blackfoot society62 and “the whole area and traditional Blackfoot ground.” Overall, most visitors are anxious to listen to the guides’ stories and anecdotes, thankful for their information and shared knowledge, and want to be taken “beyond the wood, the stones, the leather, and the texts that are in the building” (Interview with Knowlton 2011). There are, however, always people who come with preconceptions, and some are not willing to change their viewpoints, according to Knowlton: “Lots of people don’t realize it, and where they picked it up is difficult to say; it’s sort of like a snapshot that occurred somewhere” (ibid.). Moreover, not all 61 62

In October 2011, a survey of thirty visitors was conducted at HSIBJ by the author. One response was: “I know that women were harder workers than men, but men were superior.”

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visitors are prepared to learn, but rather they are looking for a confirmation of their preconceived ideas about Blackfoot people and buffalo, says Knowlton: I always ask people in the beginning how much time they have. Some groups say we got to be out in an hour and a half, and there are other groups that say, oh take your time, and I give them more details as we go along. We do share things. It depends on how deep they are ready to go. Some people are prepared to go deeper than others, and if somebody is not ready to listen, you’re better off talking to others. We have had people come through here they are not here to listen; they are here to tell me. One of the common things is, when that happens, it’s all about the buffalo and what we’re telling here is not right. The Native people are the ones that caused the buffalo to be extinct. That’s what they were told, and this place doesn’t follow that. They tell you why they disappeared and why you’re to blame, you’re the cause. [. . .] They have had their mind made up (Interview with Knowlton 2011).

Commonly, there are different kinds of visitors, with different expectations. Some are expecting a museum with objects, and the Blackfoot guides have to deal with dissatisfaction, prejudice and colonial discourses, as Knowlton relates in an interview (see Box 4.2). Box 4.2: Stan Knowlton, “Beyond Wood, Stone and Texts” I had one gentleman that came in, and that is a person I use sort of as a measuring tool. He parked outside of the building, and he came in. I was standing at the front, he paid, and I asked him if he wanted me to take him on a tour. He said, no thanks, I’d like to go through and see what’s in here. I said, okay, well, if you’re here later, just let me know, and if I’m not doing anything, I’m more than happy to take you around. But he said, he would like to see it on his own. So he was given his map and he disappeared into the building. About ten minutes later I met him coming down the stairs. He came up to me and said, ‘There is nothing in here. The only things you got in here are some stones; you’ve got some arts and crafts, some paintings and text. But there is nothing up there. I want my refund.’ I said: ‘Okay. Would you like me to take you on a tour?’ He said, no, I just want my refund. There is nothing in here to see. I came all the way from Australia; I was expecting to see something. I heard so much about this place. And I came through here, and there is just leather, rocks, wood, just nothing.’ I said, “I’m more than happy to take you on a tour. How much time do you have?” And he said, “After I have been through, I don’t need more time for this.” I said, “Okay, thank you very much.” I gave him his refund [. . .] and he left. That gives you one extreme. If somebody comes in and if they don’t understand, I cannot argue with them. What he saw was rocks and wood, some leather. That was at the very superficial level. Whereas when other people come through here, they have this amazing experience when they have been able to walk through with a guide that takes them beyond the wood, the stones, the leather, and the texts that are in the building. So these are the two ends of it, and when we do our presentations, it can be anywhere between those two experiences (Interview with Knowlton 2011).

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Concerning ownership and management of the site, the visitors are not informed. On their official tour through the centre, they do not learn about the location of the Blackfoot reserves and many visitors are unsure whether the site is on reserve. A visitor survey63 shows that one third of the visitors believe that the Blackfoot own the site and the building (30 %), another third thinks that the federal or provincial government are the owners of the site (25 %), about one third is not sure who owns the site (25 %), a minority thinks the Blackfoot and the government share ownership (10 %) and another ten percent believe that UNESCO owns the site. Visitor statements regarding the ownership include the following: • “The tribe itself owns it, which is amazing. I know that they run it, and it’s well done” (female, 71, from Belgrave, Ontario) • “I hope that the Natives do, but I think the government does” (female, 65, from Edmonton, Alberta) • “I think it is shared. Is it on the reserve?” (male, 30, from Calgary, Alberta) • “The First Nations own it, through the government” (female, 52, from Komoka, Ontario) • “The autonomous Indians, because it’s on a reserve” (male, 38, from Düsseldorf) These statements exemplify the visitors’ lack of knowledge relating to the control of the site. But where, if not here, are the visitors supposed to learn about site ownership and Indigenous rights? Moreover, as most tourists do not visit the nearby Piikani or Kainai reserves, they are not aware of the living circumstance of the Blackfoot, as Small Legs exclaims: “People don’t come over to Brocket. I’ve had people who ask do you still live in tipis. And I have to tell them in a nice way, no, what I do when I go home is, I go home to a 52-inch TV and watch baseball. This is why they think we are like that” (Interview with Small Legs 2011). During these words he points at the exhibitions of the past at the Interpretive Centre. Looking for the ‘authentic Indian’ also involves the attire of the Blackfoot guides. Visitors expect to recognize the guides as Indigenous people, and at many sites the Indigenous guides are dressed as ‘Indians’.64 At HSIBJ, the dress code for the guides is dictated by the government, that refrains from dressing them in ‘traditional clothing’, as Daniels states: “If we asked the staff to dress up, I’ve heard some of the First Nations staff say that they don’t want to look like the cigar store Indian” (Interview with Daniels 2011). They are, however, asked to wear jeans and folklore vests, giving them some kind of folklorist appearance and indicating them as guides for the tourists. For some visitors this is not enough, though, and the Blackfoot guides have to give explanations, as Daniels states: We get some complaints from some Europeans that say you’re not dressed as an Indian. [. . .] The response is that I am. I am an Indian, and the way I am dressed is the way Indians dress

63

Survey by the author at HSIBJ, October 2011. At the Huron Traditional Site at Wendake, Quebec, the guides wear clothes imitating traditional dresses, i.e., brown cloth shirts, pants, and dresses with fringes, woven headbands, and bone necklaces.

64

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today. Quinton Crow Shoe was meeting with a tour operator from China, and that Chinese person said, you’re not Blackfoot, you don’t look Blackfoot. And he said, you don’t look Chinese, but he said it in Blackfoot. There is this stereotype, and part of our staff’s role is to explain (Interview with Daniels 2011).

Besides the guided tours, there are special programs, performances and events offered to tourists. During the first year after the opening of the centre, archaeological excavations were open to the public, and archaeologists trained in public speaking explained the methods. The digs, however, were too expensive to be kept and were closed. Today, once a week in July and August, performances of Blackfoot contemporary drumming and dancing are presented, which draw a large number of tourists, making Wednesday the “best day”. Additionally, twice a month between May and September, a 3.5-hour hike with Blackfoot guides takes visitors to a number of interesting landscapes and archaeological features, including drive lanes and spiritual sites, thus focusing on the landscape instead of on the building. There are also events offered throughout the year. On Family Day in February, visitors get free admission and can participate in special activities, including a presentation of birds of prey, a simulated archaeological dig, artifact demonstrations and storytelling in the Living off the Land program. On National Indigenous Peoples Day on June 21, people at the site celebrate Indigenous contributions to Canadian society and visitors may immerse themselves “in the Plains Blackfoot way of life.” They are invited to experience the sound and spectacle of drumming and dancing, take a photo with Blackfoot dancers in their regalia, listen to Blackfoot Elders tell stories about buffalo culture and try their hand at Atlatl-throwing, an ancient hunting technique. At Buffalo Harvest Days in September, visitors are invited to “celebrate Alberta Culture days by experiencing Blackfoot culture, brought to life through storytelling, arts and crafts” (HSIBJ 2020). These programs show that the archaeological exhibitions are not enough to attract visitors, but that cultural presentations play an enormous role at the site, which raises questions of cultural commodification.

4.6.2

Programs and Experiences for Children and Youth

HSIBJ has also developed a range of educational programs for children and youth to learn about Blackfoot culture, designed to complement the Alberta Learning Curriculum (Alberta Community Development 2001). In 2020, four programs for schools and youth groups were offered: a Guided Building Tour, Tipi – Teepee, Living off the Land, and a Hike to the Past (HSIBJ 2020). Besides the tour through the building, the program Living off the Land is very popular among students (see Fig. 4.9). They spend about 1.5 hours with a Blackfoot guide who explains the making and use of different tools and how the people lived traditionally.65 The video conference option, Living from the Land, allows a class to talk directly with a guide

65

I participated in the two programs of Living off the Land with E. Small Legs and Kiit Kiitokii in October 2011.

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Fig. 4.9 Edwin Small Legs teaching the program Living off the Land. (Photo by Susemihl, printed with permission of HSIBJ)

at HSIBJ. Until 2019, schools were also able to order the travelling edukit Two Worlds, Two Eras, that included DVDs and “real tools locally made that would have been used by the Blackfoot of the past” (HSIBJ 2019). These distance learning programs were initiated due to reduced funding for school excursions66 and for schools that were too far away to visit the site. Over the decades, though, the number of programs has been cut due to decreased funding, and many programs have been discontinued.67 There used to be arts and crafts programs, for example, where children would make a shirt or other articles from leather, as Knowlton remembers: “It was quite intense. You would sit in this room all day, cutting up the leather or beading. Over the years due to the reduction of staff, we had to adjust the packages and they were cut” (Interview with Knowlton 2011). There were also cooking classes, “where children would make bannock. Everybody was given the flour, they had a deep frying pan and they would cook some bannock”, and there was an archaeology program, Stones and Bones,68 “one of the hardest programs” to teach, according to Knowlton: 66

Transportation costs are the highest costs for schools. Compare HSIBJ 2014 and HSIBJ 2017. In 2002–2004, the educational programs at HSIBJ included the programs Buffalo Tales (ages 4–6), Living Long Ago (grades 1–3), Living Off the Land (grades 4–6), History Underground (grades 5–9), Social Organization (grades 7–9), Sticks and Stones (all grades), and a Facility Tour (all grades). A portable education program, the ‘Contrast’ Resource Kit, featuring a slide show, photographs and teacher’s guide, documenting the lifestyle of the Blackfoot before and after the Europeans’ arrival in southern Alberta can be provided for schools (Alberta Community Development 2001). 68 The Program Stones and Bones was still offered in 2017, but not in 2019 anymore (HSIBJ 2012, 2017, 2019). 67

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We have some boxes full of sand and various items in there, and have the kids go through, and we are trying to teach them a little archaeology, but we battle against them. Even though you show them what to do, they just want to shovel through it. This idea that there is some buried treasure, it doesn’t matter how we get it. It’s very difficult to look at it and to slowly work through, it is very meticulous (Interview with Knowlton 2011).

After adjusting this program for a number of years, it was finally abandoned. Whereas other Indigenously-run heritage sites have created new programs to introduce children and youth to Indigenous cultures, HSIBJ has reduced the number of programs within the past decade, because the programs are not self-supportive. Schools are not prepared to pay a 25-dollar fee for a guide, which is “only a token gesture” and does not cover the real costs, according to Knowlton (Interview 2011). The fee for the programs must be retained, though, because it encourages commitment, argues Daniels; otherwise, “if you don’t have a fee, it can decrease the importance of a program, or they just cancel” (Interview with Daniels 2011). The number of schools coming to the site has decreased, especially among high schools, because the public means for excursions have been reduced. Another reason for abolishing some programs was that they were quite demanding for the guides who are not trained in teaching skills. Leading the children through the site is a challenge for the guides, and they apply different methods to entertain their young visitors, from storytelling to magic tricks and talking puppets. Along with having to cope with students’ contrasting expectations and limited knowledge, on a field trip to HSIBJ, many school classes have a limited amount of time and bring children who are not well prepared for the site, as Knowlton relates: Sometimes they just want to get as many students through here as they can. On a weekend a bus from Calgary came and they had 177 students. We spent 1.5 hours with them and then they are up. Others schools bring in maybe 80 and you have to run them through within that hour-and-a half, and in there they have to squeeze their lunch (Interview with Knowlton 2011).

Nevertheless, the stories told and the histories passed on to non-Indigenous and Blackfoot visitors have a strong educational value. While there are many different educational programs offered to youth groups, none of them are specifically targeted at Indigenous people. For decades, stereotypes and negative images of Indigenous people have infiltrated young people’s imagination, originating from Hollywood movies and other popular media. Children act accordingly and many Indigenous youth are ashamed of their culture and reject it. The Blackfoot guides try to fight against these popular images and counter wrong assumptions and prejudice. Reaching out to the young people, Kiit Kiitokii explains: It is myth busting, the Hollywood version. I say to them, 99 percent of your knowledge about First Nations people is wrong [. . .] How, whoop – all this comes from cartoons, and the drumming, that’s all Hollywood. I break those myths. This is a cultural-scientific-educational building; it is offering them a place of understanding of who we are [. . .]. The buffalo hunt is one part of this culture, and how we respect that today. Our lifestyle is not lost. It was forgotten, but now we are taking it back and sharing it with people (Interview with Kiitokii 2011).

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While sharing knowledge and involving young visitors is an important task of the site, which has been taken on quite responsibly and professionally by the Blackfoot guides, the framework of the message is still set within the ‘authorized’ message of Western science.

4.6.3

The Tipi Camp

For many years, one of the major attractions at HSIBJ for all age groups was the tipi camp. Perhaps no other object or image represents Plains culture as truly and thoroughly as the tipi. In fact, the tipi has been used as a stereotypical image for all Indigenous peoples of North America, and today tipis can be found as a tourist attraction at sites in regions where they were never used.69 For the Blackfoot people, though, the tipi was of major significance. Once used as a shelter the year round, the Blackfoot developed powerful symbolic associations between the tipi and the spiritual realm. Today, tipis remain important to Blackfoot culture and are still used to hold spiritual and cultural functions. As symbols of Indigenous identity, tipis can also be found as parts of art installations or at sites where Indigenous peoples unite to defend their rights and lands (Gadacz 2012). At HSIBJ, the tipi camp was meant to function as a cultural and teaching tool, but eventually turned out to be a difficult venture. Initially located below the Interpretive Centre in the Old Man River Valley, the camp was operated on land that is not part of the UNESCO World Heritage site. It allowed visitors to stay overnight in tipis while learning about Indigenous culture from the Blackfoot guides. Later, it moved onto the grounds of HSIBJ. The awardwinning program was very popular with visitors, but heavily subsidized by the provincial government. For many years, the tipis were erected from May to October. In 2011, the program was reduced to one month, for school groups only, and at the same time, the price for the program went up significantly. Groups had to book a year in advance and would “stay for an evening program, for one night, have breakfast in the morning, and then leave” (Interview with Daniels 2011). Eventually, the costs and risks were too high to maintain it, and in 2012 the tipi camp was cancelled completely. Moving it onto the designated land also required the government to look more critically into the program and consider damages to the land. The use of the tipis70 impacted the grass, and strong winds and the open area were another issue, as Knowlton explains: 69

At the Huran Traditional Site Onhoüa Chetek8e at Wendake, Quebec, for example, there is a tipi set up “because that’s what visitors want to see”, according to a guide, even though the Huron traditionally lived in longhouses and used wigwams, not tipis. At Blackfoot Crossing, Alberta, the Chief Crowfoot’s Tipi Camp is open from May to September and visitors may stay overnight. 70 The tipis for HSIBJ were manufactured by a local company, Lethbridge Custom Canvas Ltd., and Blackfoot guides were involved in its design, the standard tipi being 14 foot. A tipi costs about 1050 CAD.

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This is really not a place to have a tipi camp. It’s right out in the open. When we get the winds, we really get the winds. Location-wise it’s probably the worst spot to have a tipi camp. There is no flat ground. We have to learn to keep them up in the wind, we have to learn how take them down. Normally you go to a place where there is shelter, where the ground is flat. And your tipi is supposed to be up for days. At one time we had them up from May to October. Tipis were just not designed to withstand that kind of use, especially canvas (Interview with Knowlton 2011).

Besides the weather, animals at the camp such as bears posed a danger, and people had to sleep inside the centre. Moreover, many people wanted to sleep in a big, 21-foot tipi instead of a 14-footer that fits up to ten people, and they would complain about the wind and cold temperatures. Another issue was the stoves in the tipis that were difficult to handle for visitors who were not used to tending a fire, causing sparks to set air mattresses, sleeping bags and the tipi canvas on fire, as Knowlton reflects: “People would pile the stoves full of wood; they looked like a steam engine. Sleeping bags were burnt; we had carpets in there that had holes all over them. It was amazing that nobody was hurt” (Interview with Knowlton 2011). Visitors also did not understand how to use the ear flaps, opening and closing them according to weather and smoke, as Knowlton continues “It doesn’t matter how you instruct them. You tell them, when it’s raining, you close up the ear flaps, but if you are going to fire up that stove, you’ve got to open those flaps” (ibid.). Overall, the tipi camp caused many challenges for the guides, as Knowlton remembers (see Box 4.3), and it was finally discontinued. For Indigenous visitors, on the other hand, who have experience with cooking on stoves and sleeping in tipis, the camps were a great way of regaining closeness to their own culture and traditions, as Knowlton relates: We had a group that came down [. . .], and there were four Cree ladies, senior ladies, and we had a wind blowing through here, yet they were able to cook a meal for maybe 60 to 70 young people that they were with. When I saw the smoke coming out of the tipi, I walked over and I talked with them, and I was absolutely amazed how they cooked on those stoves. Later I checked on them and they had cleaned up, it was like nothing had happened. It just showed the experience. We had so many problems with the stoves and the fires inside the tipis. But with these ladies, they really enjoyed it, they fed everybody, and that’s the way it’s supposed to be. That was probably one of our last groups that we allowed fires with (Interview with Knowlton 2011).

Blackfoot culture is based on the tipi, and for the Blackfoot the tipi is quintessential for teaching and connecting to their culture and way of life. In that respect, the tipi camp was a great way of involving visitors. Since there are only few contemporary stories of Blackfoot people delivered at HSIBJ, however, there was a danger of the tipis being used as ‘props’ to reinforce well-known stereotypical images of a people of the past as long as the stories were not shared in a meaningful way. A tipi camp should, therefore, be run by the Blackfoot who are powerfully connected to this part of their heritage, and not by government agencies.

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Box 4.3: Stan Knowlton, “At the Tipi Camp” One time we woke up in the middle of the night and people were choking and coughing. Somebody had tried to light the stove without opening the flaps. We were running in there, and the wood was smoldering and we had to haul the stove out of the tipi. Another time it was about 30 degrees outside and someone decided to fire up a stove inside the tipi. A guy hauled the stove out and he put it outside where he would sleep. I said you can’t do that? He said, all the heat will radiate through the tipi. And I said, but then the smoke is out here and the problem was with the wind blowing at a hundred kilometres an hour you’re going to light the whole prairie on fire. There were sparks flying out over to the tipi, and I had to get the fire extinguisher [. . .]. One year we had an Oriental gentleman come in. He was by himself and he picked a night where there were no other campers. But we still had to keep somebody over to keep an eye on him, and that was me. So our tipi, the one we use for the guides, is just a small 14-footer tipi. But he wanted the great big one that was over there. I said, you’re here by yourself, grab one of these ones over here, but I couldn’t talk him out of it. Suddenly, a black cloud came over, and it started to blow and rain; it was a downpour. I was perfectly comfortable where I was, but I could hear him yelling from his tipi. Every time the lightning would flash, I could see him running around out there. Finally, he was able to locate where I was and he came down and said, I was almost hit by lightning. There was lightning, flashing all over the place, and I tell him, just go over to your tipi. You’re safer in your tipi than you are outside. Then there were some near strikes. It was noisy and windy. Finally it started to settle down, calm down, and all of a sudden the clouds would break up and the moon was coming up. And he was out there with his camera taking pictures, and I think he settled down, and then a coyote started howling, and he was scared. Next morning around four o’clock I heard this noise and I was wondering what was going on. So I got up and looked around, and I saw that his lights were still out, and I couldn’t figure out what these movements were out there, and I decided to get up and check it out. All of a sudden he must have sensed that there was something wrong and that I was coming over in the dark. He started up his car, put the lights on and disappeared down the road. He was gone. I didn’t even get a chance to tell him good bye (Interview with Knowlton 2011).

4.7 “Claiming the Site as Their Own”: Indigenous Involvement at HSIBJ

4.7

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“Claiming the Site as Their Own”: Indigenous Involvement at HSIBJ

Blackfoot culture is based on a long and intimate relationship with the land, and the landscape has always been part of Indigenous traditions. While the buffalo jump method was abandoned around 1850 (Brink 2008, 257; Verbicky-Todd 1984, 132), the descendants of the Blackfoot have always resided within a few kilometres of the jump. It has never ceased to be a proud piece of their past, and the knowledge of its existence and use, together with the traditions, have been meticulously passed on to successive generations (Brink 2008, 257). Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump is, thus, of great spiritual significance for the Blackfoot, and their involvement with the site is important for their cultural and spiritual empowerment and capacity building. As the Interpretive Centre was an idea envisioned by a group of non-Indigenous archaeologists who had been working on excavations at the site for decades, community involvement became a part of the process only after the site had received World Heritage designation and funding for an Interpretive Centre had been secured. Having been involved with its operation and interpretation of the site, however, the Blackfoot are now reclaiming their heritage through cultural activities, educational programs and sharing of their culture and ways of life.

4.7.1

A Place of Blackfoot Culture and Tradition

In spite of government ownership, the Blackfoot have come to claim the site “as their own” (Brink 2008, 290), and HSIBJ now hosts weddings, funerals, medicine bundle openings, meetings of Elders and other ceremonies that reflect the esteem in which the place is held. The program at HSIBJ also includes a number of activities that engage Blackfoot culture and traditions that could be seen as sources of engagement, empowerment and education for the Blackfoot. Attempting to further promote Indigenous involvement, the government grants free entrance to the Blackfoot, which is not actively promoted, but advocated by word of mouth; they have to show their status card or are visually identified.71 There are, however, only few coming in as visitors, as many refuse to be involved with a government-run site (Interviews with Small Legs, Kiitoki, and Knowlton 2011). Specific events for Blackfoot are limited, though. One event targeted at Blackfoot Elders is the annual on-site Christmas dinner, to which Elders of the surrounding reserves are invited. In 2010, eighty Blackfoot Elders attended the dinner, as Deloralie Brown remembers:

71 While some people believe that free entrance should apply to all Indigenous people of Canada, the Government of Alberta tries to “dance around that” (Interviews with Daniels and Clarke 2011).

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We were serving a turkey dinner, and it gives them an opportunity to visit with us as staff. And we serve them, and look after them, and we give them gifts, and it’s been great. It’s been a really great relationship that we have with them. They love coming, and they love visiting, and they spend money in the gift shop before they leave. They look forward to that time, and so do we, because we don’t get to see them a lot; it’s not that they come up here all the time (Interview with Brown, 2011).

The annual Christmas dinner has become a cherished event among HSIBJ management and Blackfoot Elders, as it is not only important for relationship building, but a chance of meeting and sharing and a way of reconciliation and understanding. The site of HSIBJ is one of many sacred sites for the Blackfoot. In their world view, “everything is animate, everything has a spirit, everything is related to the earth” (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011). For many Blackfoot, the site and land is therefore of great importance for their spiritual wellbeing, understanding and connection with their culture and traditions. For many years, the late Lorraine Goodstriker conducted vision quests for women, which involved a period of fasting for four days in a secluded place in an area of the centre (Hassall 2006, 31). The quest was important for her, because through connecting with the land she drew strength and understanding for her people: Usually in about the second or third day of the vision quest, you are no longer considered a human on earth, you are in a spirit world where you can communicate with anything. This is very rewarding for me, not because I want to gain spiritual powers, but for the betterment of mankind and to be able to have understanding, compassion, unity of all mankind and just to get along with people and the people I work with as well as the wellness of my family (Goodstriker, quoted in Hassall 2006, 31).

While a lot of cultural information at HSIBJ is shared with the visitors, certain sensitive information can only be shared with tribal members. In fact, many Blackfoot are “very protective in terms of sharing the buffalo culture,” because medicines and healing practices “won’t work when there are tourists around,” remarks Crow Shoe (Interview 2011). He explains: “We have some very ancient rituals, practices and beliefs that are ours: and the ceremonialists won’t allow any outsiders. That’s because when we go there in order for us to heal [. . .], to work in unison with our spirit, our mind and our body, it has to be clear” (ibid.). There are a number of events, however, where the buffalo culture is shared with tourists. Throughout the year, there are special events that are not targeted at Indigenous visitors specifically, but are thought to be more attractive to Blackfoot than the regular visit, such as Family Day, National Indigenous Peoples Day and Buffalo Harvest Days. However, these events do not tend to draw a large number of Blackfoot visitors, as many are simply not interested. Instead, these community engagement activities are tourist attractions and help sell the buffalo jump, and Blackfoot people view them as such. At the same time these events offer possibilities of earning money for the Blackfoot. The drumming and dancing performances are also major attractions for which Blackfoot performers are hired. Visitors are invited to “watch some of Canada’s best First Nations dancers, listen to the captivating sounds of our featured drummers and singers, and hear stories of how drumming and dancing connect us with the ancient buffalo hunting culture”, as well as “meet our

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Blackfoot Elders and take photos with our Blackfoot performers in their regalia” (HSIBJ 2020). While the government views these activities as ‘meaningful engagement’ with the Blackfoot people, the concept of the events has caused criticism for cultural commodification. Moreover, while these cultural events attract many people to the site, they do not convey the scientific ideas advanced by the government. Unlike archaeological excavations that are in line with the ‘official story’, the drumming and dancing is problematic, as it “deludes the story, because it’s powerful and entertaining,” according to Daniels (Interview 2011). He states: “Our story is about the buffalo hunting culture. [. . .] We don’t know if they did these things five thousand years ago. It’s something that brings people to the site, but it’s a prehistoric site” (ibid.). For the government, the use of HSIBJ as a community centre is difficult, because the site had been designated as an archaeological site, as Clarke stresses: One of my problems with the place is that is has become a Blackfoot cultural centre, and my sense is that it is not really that. It is a World Heritage site because of the buffalo jump and what the buffalo jump means. And the buffalo jump and its content are more important than the Chicken Dance. The Chicken Dance is colourful, and it’s an interesting representation of Blackfoot culture, but it doesn’t tell us the whole element of what this place means. This place is about how Native people of this country survived thousands of years by their ingenuity and their knowledge, and that is what I think people need to understand (Interview with Clarke 2011).

The argument that HSIB is designated for its scientific content and not for the cultural aspects of Blackfoot society is also expressed by Jack Brink, who explains that “it is a UNESCO World Heritage site because of the incredible story of that jump and not because Blackfoot people work there” (Brink, quoted in Onciul 2015, 140). He states further: It is my perception that the jump has evolved dramatically in the last twenty years. And one of the major revolutions is the story of the jump has become more the story of the people. It has become more and more of a cultural centre for the Blackfoot, rather than a celebration or story about the buffalo jump. And I think that’s controversial. There are some people who don’t agree with that trend, and there are others who [. . .] favour it and maybe like to see more of it. I am one of the people who feels that the jump has gone too far as a Blackfoot centre and needs to go back to being more as a story about the buffalo jump, and it just so happens that the Blackfoot people ran the jump (ibid.).

Over the years, though, culture has increasingly dominated the site and its storyline, which has important implications for the marketing, the visitors and the Blackfoot. While marketing uses cultural events and visitors are drawn to them, cultural aspects also cause conflict between the Blackfoot guides and the management, according to Knowlton: When they first started out, this place was 95 percent sciences and about five percent culture. Over the years, because you’ve had so many Blackfoot-speaking, cultural people here, and science itself has not really been nailed down, there have been changes. Things around here really don’t change that quickly, but what eventually happened is that now we have 95 percent culture and five percent science. That’s were lot of the conflict comes in. You could say that the powers would like it to come down to something like sixty-forty. It would be nice to have all the science and all the culture involved, but the reality is that that would

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take a very specialized type of person that would be able to do that (Interview with Knowlton 2011).

It is difficult to separate science and culture, however. The conflict between the government and the Blackfoot partly originates in differing views of the concepts of archaeology and heritage. The designation of HSIBJ is predominantly based on archaeology, and culture officially came in only in 1987 when the Centre opened. But archaeology, containing both a record of the past and the interpretations and values that people apply to that record today, is a difficult concept for many Indigenous people. Not only did its knowledge and practice became embedded in the colonial process (Smith 2006, 282), but Indigenous people also do not view archaeological ‘artifacts’ or sites as things of the past, but as active elements of their contemporary world (Younging 2018, 53). These objects, places and stories are valued as much for their ‘heritage’ values as for “being repositories of beings and powers of importance within their worldview” (Nicholas 2009, 218). This has major implications for understanding the critical reactions that some Indigenous communities have to archaeology and it identifies the need for alternative heritage management strategies.

4.7.2

Education through Heritage

HSIBJ has a strong educational value, which makes it an important means for Indigenous empowerment. While there are no special educational programs delivered for Blackfoot youth or adults, though, the guides seize every opportunity to share the rich stories of the jump with young Blackfoot. To them, the most important message for community youth is the importance of the buffalo and the history of Blackfoot power. The Blackfoot guides acknowledge that one of their biggest challenges is educating young people about how beautiful their culture was and is – a message that is as important for Blackfoot as it is for tourists. The potential of HSIBJ to inform and educate has, thus, become important to the Blackfoot community, and the influx of people and ideas to this landscape has brought an increasing need among Blackfoot youth to balance Western ways of educating with traditional Blackfoot learning. Indeed, working at the Interpretive Centre, many Blackfoot people have “found a sense of pride they couldn’t have received anywhere else,” which helped lead “to their success later in life” (Knowlton, quoted in Kristensen and Donnelly 2018). Teaching Blackfoot ways of life at HSIBJ is not without problems, though. The guides have received praise and criticism from Indigenous community members about teaching Blackfoot culture to local youth. Pragmatic parents, for example, have told them to stop teaching their children Blackfoot language and stories, and focus instead on things that will help them get jobs. They have also been criticized for working in a ‘Western government institution’ – the same one that has suppressed Indigenous culture in periods through history. Conrad Little Leaf

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responds to these attacks: “I walk people through the chronology. There are dark times, oppression, and people need to know that” (Little Leaf, quoted in Kristensen and Donnelly 2018). He believes that “everyone – tourist, local, niece or nephew – needs to be educated first to understand why things are the way they are, and to think about what they could be. It’s an important step towards reconciliation: protected sites are an educational platform for ecology, history, and resilience” (ibid.). Hence, the Blackfoot guides must deliver knowledge about their people to correct misconceptions and romanticized ideas, as he suggests: “The land is a big story that has real power for kids and they love it” (ibid.). Education and keeping youth on the reserves are major challenges for the Blackfoot communities. Young people want to participate in technological development, and traditional education and knowledge is competing against “technology, internet, video games, Wi-Fi”, explains Crow Shoe: “They are not going to want to come back to their culture, and our ways, unless you incorporate a Blackfoot dictionary into your computer, or you have Blackfoot video games” (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011). Language immersion programs help to absorb children in a Blackfoot language environment,72 but “when they go home, they go right back to their games, their movies” and “that’s where the struggle is” (ibid.). For that reason, Blackfoot children are often not interested in their heritage. They are immersed in a modern Western culture and often reject an Indigenous way of life, as Kiitokii experienced: The ones that are really involved are the children who are in elementary school; let’s say from grade six down. However, the older ones are not interested, because they are influenced by other mediums of culture, music, what they’re seeing on TV, what they are doing on Facebook, interacting in a modern way. So there are a very low percentage of young Native people who will participate. However, the younger ones love it, they love the puppet show. They come here and say, wow, it’s so cool to be Indian. My older daughter, who is thirteen, refers to me more as a magician/hypnotist/cool guy, and she won’t say that I work at the buffalo jump. My younger daughter, who is eight would say in school, “My dad works at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. I’m so lucky that he works there.” Two dynamics. A lot of the young people will pertain; they will go in getting too much involved with the culture. Some will, to a certain extent, but the majority won’t (Interview with Kiitokii 2011).

Instead of Indigenous youth being interested in the stories, the opposite effect has been witnessed, where Blackfoot children misbehaved and acted ignorantly and discourteously at the site – a behaviour that can be ascribed to present socioeconomic circumstances at their reserves, as Clarke explains: I remember when there was a mixed school, from Lethbridge, almost half Native kids and non-Native kids, and at one point we were outside on the trails, and the Native kids were on top, behaving like idiots, totally disrespectful. One of our Elders who was there, deeply ashamed of the kids, stopped them. The non-Native kids wondered why they were behaving so disrespectful. It’s because of all the difficulties; it’s terrifying; they have a huge population growth, gangs are there on the reserve (Interview with Clarke 2011).

72 The Piikani Cultural and Digital Literacy Camp Program, for example, combines digital technology and cultural and language studies for grade 9 students (Jordan 2018).

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Besides Blackfoot coming in as visitors, young Blackfoot guides and staff receive education by working at the site. On a personal basis, through training, experiencing the exhibition and exchange with older Blackfoot guides and visitors, they learn about their culture, history and traditions and develop self-esteem and pride, as Crow Shoe states: When I first started working here I noticed the young people that applied for jobs here. I hold them in the community, because you know who they are, and you say, wow, they are working at the buffalo jump, and you don’t know if that is going to work out. But what happens is that we had the intense guide training – it’s two weeks of guide training, and they are learning the stories – and all of a sudden, in the middle of the summer, you see that shy person that you figured would never cut it leading a group of forty people and just shining and showing pride. So there are benefits in that manner. All of a sudden this person has changed. They go back to the community, and they have all this new knowledge, and this new energy: I’m going to become a dancer. I’m going to start drumming. I’m going to practice speaking my language more. This place has those types of benefits. They would never have had that opportunity and change (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011).

Indeed, when many young Blackfoot people start working at HSIBJ after high school, they learn a lot about their culture that they have not experienced before at school or on reserve. Structures of passing on stories and knowledge have not been established, and many young Blackfoot have been experiencing a loss and emptiness, as Brown observed: Most of the staff is fairly young here. They want to learn how to bead, they want to learn the stories. Many of them don’t even speak Blackfoot. It’s just gotten lost down through the generations. Now they come here and they work here and they say, wow, I never knew that. I need to go and talk to my grandparents about this, and you see a sparkle in their eye. But a lot of them leave the reserve. They go to school in other towns, and a lot of them just want off the reserve. There is nothing there for them. When they leave, they’re leaving their grandparents and their parents, and they are not getting the knowledge, and the stories, and the background. A lot of them I see now miss that, and they want to go back now, and I encourage that. Do the beading, go talk to your grandparents, get the stories, because they have young children, and you want to be able to tell your children about this (Interview with Brown 2011).

Using heritage as a teaching device is an important aspect of Indigenous empowerment and community development, and the government underlines the benefit of education at HSIBJ for the Blackfoot. When Ian Clarke addressed the seasonal staff, he would tell them: [. . .] that I expect that at the end of the year there would be more impact on them as people than any impact they’ll have on any of the visitors at this site. I expect them to grow in two ways, both in terms of their knowledge of their own culture, as well as being people who are comfortable meeting other people, who did not trail away, but engaged, and that would stand with them and within the wider community (Interview with Clarke 2011).

There is certainly an honorable intention in this educational approach; however, the notion of Indigenous development through government training is complicated and has a colonial resonance. While there is a clear hierarchical leadership at HSIBJ that is common in most working environments, in this case, the fact that Blackfoot culture is interpreted and communicated by non-Indigenous ‘experts’ complicates

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the situation. It reflects the position of the government as ‘colonial caretaker’, implementing a notion of putting the Indigenous people back into the position of dependents who need to be taught. Educational packages for Blackfoot youth and adults need to be created and delivered by Blackfoot educators, who know the needs of their people, their traditions and stories, and that focus on the complex narrative of HSIBJ. This is achieved to a certain extent by Blackfoot guides, such as Knowlton and Little Lead, who have been working at the site for decades. In their ‘teachings’, though, they also still have to move within the official ‘matrix’.

4.7.3

Sharing Versus Selling Out: Indigenous Engagement and Management

By and large, the terms of Blackfoot engagement at HSIBJ are dictated by the provincial government. Through programs, invitations and employment the government determines the ways the Blackfoot are involved and participate in the operation and interpretation of the site. Moreover, among the Piikani and Kainai, there is not much agreement and conformity concerning engagement with HSIBJ. While many have become closely involved with the centre, there is hesitation and critique among others who believe that the government is exploiting and utilizing Indigenous knowledge and who see Blackfoot contributions as a betrayal of their culture, as Kiitokii confirms: “Many of my people feel I’m selling out our culture; they don’t like that I’m working here” (Interview with Kiitokii 2011). Others, however, believe it is important to share their knowledge, as Crow Shoe explains: “I’m not selling out; I’m sharing. Because when I don’t share, the colonialists are going to win [. . .]. We need to share. We need to eliminate those stereotypes; we need to create better communication and understanding” (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011). Risking the consequences means an opportunity to share their culture, values and beliefs, working towards a more inclusive, diverse picture of Indigenous people in Canada. Kiitokii confirms the importance of sharing: I think all of our leadership in the First Nation communities need to understand that the knowledge here is for everyone. The knowledge is really important. We cannot harness that and just keep it amongst ourselves. [. . .] The world is screaming out, what happens to the Indians? How come all of a sudden they are sick and they are dying? Where is the culture? We understand that Hollywood is not a way to learn. There is lots of here. So if we have it, let’s share it (Interview with Kiitokii 2011).

Engagement, however, can be a “double-edge sword” for community members and “is not always as empowering as museums would like it to appear,” argues Onciul (2015, 236). Working at HSIBJ as a Blackfoot person is a personal statement, and the costs and consequences of community involvement are, indeed, immense. Sometimes, guides and service personnel face difficulties when they engage with HSIBJ to represent their community in exchange for small benefits. People estrange and separate themselves from the community and are accused of selling out to the

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government, the White Man and the ‘enemy’. Overall, people have been criticized and credited for engaging and collaborating with a government-run site (Interviews with Kiitokii, Knowlton and Small Legs 2011; Onciul 2015, 236). These challenges have been undervalued or little appreciated by the management, by museum discourse and practice, and “greater understanding, empathy, acknowledgement and compensation for those difficulties would surely help to improve relations between museums and Indigenous communities” (ibid., 236). In the context of selling or sharing culture, the government and management have also been criticized for capitalizing on Blackfoot heritage, and many Piikani resent the fact that the government has been making money based on Indigenous culture, as Clarke comments: There were those who would come out saying that the government was extracting money out of the region and of Native culture. We pointed out to them the purpose of what we were doing. Our purpose is to represent Native culture. It cost us this amount of money to do that, and the site drives this amount of revenues, which is about a quarter of what it cost us to operate the site. If you take the site over, it cost you a million dollars a year. It’s not a cash cow; it’s a subsidized operation (Interview 2011).

While running the World Heritage site is indeed a government-subsidized undertaking, a major reason for tourists to visit the site is the representation of Blackfoot culture. Clarke, who would address this subject when speaking to the guides and seasonable staff, acknowledges Indigenous culture, but contextualizes it within his personal history: [. . .] a lot of people have accused us of capitalizing on your culture, and I’m here to tell you that I recognize that this is not my culture. This is your culture; it belongs to you. But this is my history, and that is an important distinction to make. So it affects me, because it is part of my history; the Native people here are part of my history, and I need to be aware of that, because it makes me who I am – not your culture, but my history (Interview with Clarke 2011).

Clarke’s argument of being part of the history is problematic, though, because as a government representative, he frames the narrative of HSIBJ within a ‘prehistoric’ time, which was, according to the ‘matrix’, not part of Blackfoot history, but at the same time it was not part of the White colonizers’ history, either. The statement also suggests that the government constructs a narrative that helps to determine settlers’ history and identity, to a certain extent. As a subsidized operation, financial interests of the government also play a substantial role. Sandalack (2019, 178) argues that with defining the archeological value of the site, an exploitation of the site took place in the form of the preservation of the site and the construction of the interpretive centre. In this respect, “tourism provides the justification for the manipulation of the landscape, whereby money is generated through admission fees and the sale of commercial products, and at the present time, it is in the interests of Alberta Culture and the communities near the site to freeze the form of the buffalo jump complex and capitalise on its value as a tourist attraction” (ibid.). This is true for the community of Fort Macleod that benefits from the tourism at the site. It is not true, however, for the Blackfoot communities of Brocket and Stand Off, as tourists very rarely drive to the reserves.

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Besides the involvement with operations and interpretations, community involvement with the management of the site would mean true community participation and control (Arnstein 1969). While many Blackfoot would like to see changes in the management and demand more influence and control over it, others prefer the current form of management. Small Legs, who is very critical of the current ownership and management situation, sees the financial potential of HSIBJ and provocatively talks about opening a casino on site: You have to follow protocol. I would take it up to the chief summit and ask if they could help us, because they have the final say [. . .]. And you know what I would put up? A casino. The average Indian thinks like this; he doesn’t think long-term. He thinks what’s in front of him. And what’s in front of him? That carrot! But I believe today, in the 21st century, that it’s time that we take over our life. That it’s time that we go back, and I know that we can’t go back to the old days, but go back to where it all started and where it all went wrong and try to make it better. [. . .] The whole world runs on money, so you need to make money to get ahead. If I had this place [. . .] People know about this place, and people come here (Interview with Small Legs 2011).

Stan Knowlton, on the other hand, currently sees government management as the right way, because the Blackfoot communities are not able to manage the site due to socio-economic and political challenges at their reserves. He states: Right now, I prefer the way it is, because our communities [. . .] are very dysfunctional. It’s by design that people are kept in this state. If they ever wake up and get their act together, then it might be a different story. But right now I just want to keep it as far away from those communities as I can. Unless you’re the privileged people on that reserve, you really don’t have any benefits from them. You’re either out there and become the impoverished majority, or you become part of the dysfunctional group that handles itself first, and I wouldn’t want to see this place come under that type of influence (Interview with Knowlton 2011).

The divisions and disagreements between the three Blackfoot communities is, indeed, one reason which hinders Indigenous involvement in the management of HSIBJ, agrees Kiitokii: When you venture into that topic, it can become very controversial, because this group of First Nations here from Piikani may not agree with the group of Kainai or Siksika. They all have their input; they all have their stories; they all have their voice. However, to get them together to make a decision of managing a place which they have no idea of how to manage may become chaotic or just a waste of a lot of time (Interview with Kiitokii 2011).

As political situations and balances change in Canada, Indigenous people are becoming ever more visible and are gaining influence in political spheres, and along with this development a different approach to the management of HSIBJ might become reality one day. At the moment, however, the Piikani and Blood communities are wrestling with more pressing issues on reserve. If they approached the government for other models of management, however, the government “would likely” recreate the Minister’s Advisory Committee, which would include Indigenous and other stakeholder representation, reasons Clarke. And “if that weren’t sufficient for their interest, they would have to put forward a united case, and that has never really happened off the reserves. But if they were concerted on it, the minister might establish a special relationship with a council of Native people of the

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two reserves” (Interview with Clarke 2011). For the Blackfoot, however, true community participation is essential in terms of Indigenous empowerment and community development, and their engagement in HSIBJ management could lead to an alternative heritage management strategy that includes a more diverse and critical approach to heritage conservation and reconciliation.

4.8

“The Place is Part of Us”: Building Community Capacity for the Future

For the Blackfoot, their traditional values are important. Many of them still speak their language, their ceremonies continue and their beliefs are strong, which proves that a century of forced assimilation has failed. The World Heritage site of HeadSmashed-In Buffalo Jump and its surrounding landscape of foothills and prairies are part of their history and culture and have strong implications for identity building. To Conrad Little Leaf the place is both “a library and a legend” woven into people’s identity: “This place is a story and that story is me; that’s who I am” (quoted in Kristensen and Donnelly 2018). Despite government ownership and non-Indigenous management, the Blackfoot hold the site in high regard and are striving to use the site for community development and capacity building, as much as possible.

4.8.1

Blackfoot Empowerment and Community Development through HSIBJ

The situation at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump is complex, as the multi-aspect diagram in Table 4.1 shows, including aspects of management, conservation, tourism and education as well as aspects of Blackfoot empowerment, capacity building and community development. The situation of the Blackfoot is an unresolved political conflict and a legacy of colonialism. As the land was ceded through Treaty 7 in 1877 and the heritage site was negotiated at a time before the Task Force on Aboriginal Languages and Cultures,73 the Blackfoot have no legal title to the land of their ancestors and to the site of HSIBJ. Since they do not own the land and have no authorized voice in the management, there is also no true co-management of HSIBJ. The site’s attraction, 73

The Task Force on Aboriginal Languages and Cultures was appointed in 2002 by the Minister of Aboriginal Heritage. In June 2005 it published “Towards a New Beginning – A Foundational Report for a Strategy to Revitalize First Nation, Inuit and Métis Languages and Cultures,” recognizing the importance for Indigenous people “of maintaining a close connection to the land in their traditional territories, particularly wilderness areas, heritage and spiritual or sacred sites” and recommending “their meaningful participation in stewardship, management, co-management or co-jurisdiction arrangements” (Task Force 2005, 9).

Table 4.1 Indigenous empowerment and community development through World Heritage: Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump

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however, depends significantly on Blackfoot presence and involvement in the operation. This involvement is not based on formal agreements, but consists of the contributions of single Blackfoot in certain positions within the operation process. Their positive attitude towards HSIBJ, though, does not represent the position of the entire Blackfoot community and there are many who oppose any involvement with a government-run site. Despite the embedded community engagement at the site, there exists a strong notion of Western science versus Blackfoot knowledge, which many of the Blackfoot guides who have been employed at the centre over the years have tried to bridge (Onciul 2015, 141), and while some Blackfoot protocol has been observed, the power relations at HSIBJ are not equal. Without official co-operation, there are no general employment policies for Blackfoot implemented and no revenues that reach the Blackfoot community. Moreover, improvement in Indigenous employment and financial benefits, living conditions and education only exists on an individual basis. While Blackfoot working as guides, dancers or sales personnel at HSIBJ identify with the site, there is little identification with the site by many young Blackfoot. And although the Piikani, and to some extent the Kainai, have been involved with the site and their communities have gained certain cultural, spiritual and economic benefits, there is little to no socio-political empowerment through the UNESCO site for the Indigenous heirs of the ancient buffalo jump.74 Many community members also see HSIBJ as a commodification of their culture by a government institution, and Blackfoot employees are “expected to toe-the-line of the institutionalized message and practice” (Onciul 2015, 142). A further issue with HSIBJ is the lack of development of the site. When the centre opened in the 1980s, it was “ahead of its time” (Onciul 2015, 142), but “it has not stayed ahead of the changes in museology” (ibid.). The extent of ‘Indigenization’ has not satisfied the expectations of all community members, “nor have changes been institutionalized with consistency” (ibid.). Today, the centre with its exhibitions seems to be frozen in time. One reason besides financial causes is the UNESCO designation, as Knowlton explains: When it was given the UNESCO designation, development stopped. The problem is that it was good. It’s almost like frozen now, whereas improvements could have been made. [. . .] In the meantime everything is changing around you. You see all those areas where it could be improved, and it’s not going to happen [. . .] If you ever want to change something, you have to get approval. There are so many hoops that you have to jump through, you might as well not even try, because it’s not going to happen in your lifetime (Interview with Knowlton 2011).

Another reason for the lack of change, besides the UNESCO label, is the fact that the centre is a government institution, developed to interpret the concept of archaeology to non-Indigenous international visitors, rather than a place for the community. 74 While in the past the site has been used a platform for political battles by the Blackfoot, and, in the 1990s, the site “was used as means for Native protest on the reserve about water and water rights” with a blockade being set up at HSIBJ (Interview with Clarke 2011), no similar activities have occurred within the past decade.

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A lack of power sharing, limited time and consideration allocated to Indigenous protocol and practices and internal disagreements concerning cultural aspects are issues that hinder development. Disagreements over the message, purpose and ownership of the site “continues to prevent productive co-working that meets the expectations of the institution and the community” (Onciul 2015, 143). Although the site has been changing, creating the impression of an unchanged place nurtures the story of the past. In that respect, according to Sandalack (2019), HSIBJ “has gone from being an active, dynamic, dangerous and vital place where life, death and spiritual matters were worked out in partnership with the landscape, to a safe, carefully edited, frozen-in-time museum where it is now difficult to have any experience aside from a carefully curated exposure to an otherwise dramatic landscape” (180). She states further: Perhaps that is an inevitable part of creating a museum of a complex place, but much seems to be lost as well, and the site is in danger, should it continue to evolve to satisfy quests for entertainment or prosaic bureaucratic concerns about safety, of becoming a one-dimensional interpretation of a place framed by the dominant culture. Perhaps the most difficult challenge with sites like Head-Smashed-In is that of restraint and subtlety – to let the site be itself and to evolve according to the natural and cultural processes that will continue to act on it (Sandalack 2019, 180).

Such evolvement can only be reached with increased Indigenous involvement. Approaches of government control need to change, as the existing situation is tied to federal bureaucratic regulations that are a legacy of colonialism. The limited nature of previous adaptations relates to, and reflects, the level of power sharing between the site and the community. As Arnstein’s (1969) model of participation indicates, consultations favour the consulters rather than the consulted. There are different views on heritage and ownership, as, for example, the handling of artifacts has shown. This illustrates the need for managers to be aware of potential cultural differences between Indigenous groups and for decisions respecting these differences. The evolution of the site also includes alterations of the surrounding landscape throughout centuries. The idea of keeping the site as it appeared thousands of years ago, as Brink (2008) describes it, is an ideal. After the Blackfoot had been confined to reserves and the buffalo became almost extinct, diverse processes and patterns of human and landscape interaction occurred that have modified the landscape. EuroAmerican settlers, their descendants and their animals participated in an ecological transformation of the Great Plains and the site. Besides displacing Indigenous people, they actively transformed the environment by introducing new plants and animals – a process that Crosby (1986) called ‘ecological imperialism’. The composition of the plant material was changed by selectively grazing cattle, quarrying of sandstone for building material, removal of the rock cairns, excavation of cattle watering holes, construction of road beds and fence lines, and excavation of bone beds for artifacts, among others (Sandalack 2019, 170). The transfer of land from Indigenous peoples to the Canadian government and to settlers had, and continues to have, enormous consequences for both the people and the land (Thorpe 2016).

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Indeed, the connections between colonization and ecology are the physical remnants of a centuries-old confluence of nature and culture. Reconciliation between settlers and Indigenous people must, therefore, include nature and culture. With the cultural and ecological hybridity that characterizes its landscape, HSIBJ can help in reconciliation, acknowledging these complex changes in the conservation processes. A cultural landscape approach will be helpful in painting a more inclusive picture, because it deals with the historic material and recognizes the continuity between the past and present and the impact of the people living and working on the land today.

4.8.2

Blackfoot Agency and Community Capacity

The situation on the Blackfoot reserves is difficult, and many move to the cities for employment and education. Many of them, however, “get their education, come back and help the community”, which brings even more “competition over what little there is”, states Knowlton (Interview with Knowlton 2011). Issues such as education, health care and housing are pressing for the Blackfoot, and there is little space for traditional teachings, as Crow Shoe asserts: Our people are ten, twenty years behind mainstream society. To have a fifty inch flat screen is a luxury that you want everybody to be part of. People are just now embracing technology and all these new things. [. . .] We have a battle in front of us. The parents are enjoying those luxuries with their kids, because they never had it. [. . .] I was very fortunate as a kid. I had a grandfather to teach us the ways, who took us hunting, but the whole circumstances have changed (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011).

Although the educational system has been improving, the Alberta curriculum and teaching methods do not support Blackfoot cultural ways, and the justice and welfare systems fail to adequately address their social problems. As a result, the Blackfoot are developing their own systems, using traditional values and protocols, to create more meaningful governments, schools, and welfare and justice systems (see Fig. 4.10). For the success of these ventures, community support is of utmost importance, because only when Blackfoot people see their own traditions reflected in these institutions, will they support them: If we are to continue as Nii-tsi-ta-pii-ksi [real people], we must take control of the tools of oppression and combine them with our own values to take tools that can shape our future. The Nii-tsi-ta-pii-ksi you meet today carry with them ancient traditions, a long history and modern challenges. All of us are individuals who must find our own blend of these features and fashion our own way on the world. We cannot fit into a single, stereotyped image. If we are all to live together, we must learn to understand and accept each other as individuals (The Blackfoot Gallery Committee 2013, 96).

Recently, major changes can be seen in Indigenous awareness among the Blackfoot communities in Alberta. Blackfoot representatives of all ages engage in a series of activities to demonstrate their strength, views and opinions and their relation to their Blackfoot heritage and culture, and there are initiatives for cultural repatriation and

4.8 “The Place is Part of Us”: Building Community Capacity for the Future

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Fig. 4.10 Health care facility at Standoff, Kainai Nation. (Photo by Susemihl)

reconciliation.75 With the REDx Talks, for example, presented by the Iiniistsi Arts Society and hosted at the Mount Royal University in Calgary since 2015, a platform for Indigenous people has been established to share their accomplishments and shatter myths, and the constructive impact on young people is growing. According to the Blackfoot curator of the series, Cowboy Smithx, this speaker series acts “as a tribute to the loss of children in residential schools, language and cultural genocide” in the “spirit of oral tradition” (Edwardson 2015). In his documentary Elder in the Making (2015), Smithx travels across Blackfoot territory, exploring and experiencing his traditional homeland. The film demonstrates that cultural heritage such as the buffalo jump come to play a crucial role in young people’s search for identity and belonging. Another source of strength is bison restoration projects. As knowledge holders, Blackfoot Elders share knowledge of bison that goes beyond the ecological contexts that people discover with rangers and encourage people to remember the long interrelationship of nature and culture and the hybridity of the landscapes. In 2014,

Between 1990 and 2000, more than fifty medicine bundles were returned to Blackfoot and Cree communities from the Glenbow Museum, which drew criticism from members of the provincial government (Conaty 2015). 75

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eight Indigenous Nations76 signed the historic Buffalo Treaty – the first cross-border Indigenous treaty in over 150 years. It involved Indigenous nations on both sides of the international boundary and called for the return of iiniiwa to the prairie ecosystems. This treaty has been a way of renewing and regenerating intertribal alliances for co-operation in the restoration of the buffalo on tribal or co-managed lands within Canada and the United States. It outlined community-led goals, including the engaging of tribes in continuing dialogue on iiniiwa conservation, uniting the political powers of the Northern Plains Nations, engaging youth in the treaty process and strengthening and renewing ancient cultural and spiritual relationships with iiniiwa and grasslands in the Northern Plains (Corntassel and Woons 2017, 135; Derworitz 2014). Parks Canada has been an important partner in this undertaking. By returning Plains bison to Banff National Park,77 according to Canadian Environment Minister Catherine McKenna, “Parks Canada is taking an important step toward restoring the full diversity of species and natural processes to the park’s ecosystems while providing new opportunities for Canadians and visitors to connect with the story of this iconic species” (Reuters in Calgary 2017). The Buffalo Treaty and efforts to reintroduce bison are not just acts of ecological restoration, though. They have the potential to be acts of reconciliation that restore past relationships between people and the rest of nature. Because they have great spiritual meaning for Indigenous people, they can restore and strengthen that connection Indigenous peoples have with bison, which otherwise will be lost, as Leroy Little Bear of the Kainai First Nation states: “When [the buffalo disappears], our songs, our stories and our ceremonies will all be empty acts” (quoted in Wyton 2019). For the Blackfoot, the return of the bison will have an impact on people’s wellbeing and spiritual development. The rich history of human sustenance, exploitation, conservation and spiritual relations with an icon of ‘wild’ America illustrates that the bison is not only a symbol of the past, but may also show a path to a more sustainable future. And while many cattle ranchers view the bison as a disease threat for their domestic herds and a competition for grazing, wildlife conservationists see it as hope for the Great Plains to restore wild herds on the land – an undertaking that requires a new understanding of how economy, ecology and culture can work together to form a new way of life.78 76 The first eight signatories of the Buffalo Treaty in 2014 were the Blackfeet Nation, the Blood Tribe, the Siksika Nation, the Piikani Nation, the Assiniboine and Gros Ventre Tribes of Fort Belknap Indian Reservation, the Assiniboine and Sioux Tribes of Fort Peck Indian Reservation, the Salish and Kootenai Tribes of the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Indian Reservation, and the Tsuu T’ina Nation. The treaty is open to other tribes, and by 2019, the treaty had been signed by 30 tribes from both Canada and the United States (AP News 2019). 77 In 2017, a herd of 16 Plains bison were moved to Banff National Park. Their homecoming was “a historic, ecological and cultural triumph” (PC 2019a), as the restoration returned “a keystone species to the landscape, foster cultural reconnection, inspire discovery, and provide stewardship and learning opportunities” (PC 2017). It is “one of only four plains bison herds in North America that would be fully interacting with their predators and shaping the ecosystem as they did over a hundred years ago” (Reuters in Calgary 2017). 78 See also the documentary film Facing the Storm: Story of the American Bison (2012, dir. Doug Hawes-Davis, 78 min.).

4.8 “The Place is Part of Us”: Building Community Capacity for the Future

4.8.3

227

Where to Go from Here?

As Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump is not a community-run but a government-run tourist site, true community development does not occur. Nevertheless, the site serves as capacity building for the Indigenous community, as it educates both non-Indigenous and Indigenous visitors and fosters relationship-building, as Crow Shoe explains: “It’s places like this that help eliminate stereotypes and create communication between natives and non-Natives” (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011). Working at a World Heritage site gives Blackfoot people the opportunity to share their stories, history and culture, contemporary lifestyles and show their unique heritage to an international audience. With the damage that Hollywood has done to the Indigenous people, the stereotyping in films and cartoons, Blackfoot and non-Indigenous children have grown up with prejudice towards their own culture, which needs to be transformed, as Crow Shoe confirms: “We have a task as First Nations people of North American to change that and to let people know who we are” (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011). Otherwise, he claims, “the colonialists are going to say, not more unique, you don’t have your language anymore, you don’t have your lifestyles; you’re just like us, and there are no more reserves; we can’t have that” (ibid.). The stories and images of Indigenous people communicated at HSIBJ can help dismantle these stereotypes, as the interpretive program is “a contribution to the social fabric of the country that you can’t put a dollar value on” (Brink, quoted in Kristensen and Donnelly 2018), given that Blackfoot voice is being heard and understood. For true capacity building and community development, however, Blackfoot people need to be included and involved in a meaningful way, not just in token consultation; there has to be ‘citizen control’ (Arnstein 1969). A case of true co-operation might be a worthwhile endeavour for both sides, the Government of Alberta and the Blackfoot Nations. The Blackfoot people have the means and knowledge for taking on that responsibility. While in the 1970s, when the site was designated, “First Nations at that point in time [were] not as vocal as today”, as Crow Shoe comments, nowadays they are “sincerely involved; our input is being valued. We are sitting at the table with these officials” (Interview with Crow Show 2011). One way for a start would be the redesign of the exhibitions with true Blackfoot involvement: Right now we are talking about building redesign, and [. . .] major work here. Napi’s World is going to be phase one. They are redoing the whole [exhibition] – more glass covers, more audio-visual, sound effects, move the walls [. . .]. The cafeteria is going to be expanded, we are going to have ten more washrooms, our gift shop is going to take up the whole admin [. . .] All of these changes. I’m very fortunate that as a First Nation and as an employee I’m involved in the process (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011).

The Blackfoot people bring to the table a deeply ingrained knowledge and understanding for the place, the landscape, the stories and its meanings, as well as for the current management situation. The site is part of their traditions and culture, stresses Knowlton:

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The guides, you know, I guess we understand the situation that we are in. We understand that the government has control over it, and this is the script, and this is what you have to follow. But as Native people ourselves, from the culture – we are incapable of representing that perspective. [. . .] I guess you can say in a lot of ways, unofficially, that part of the place is part of us (Interview with Knowlton 2011).

According to Onciul (2015), “not involving the community from the very beginning has remained a key issue for the Blackfoot communities, and was exacerbated by the way community rivalries were manipulated to grain approval for the development of the centre” (139). Despite its challenges and contradictions, the World Heritage site of HeadSmashed-In Buffalo Jump is a positive example of a place where people are brought into direct contact with a cultural landscape and where they have the opportunity to experience parts of it, in situ. While there is little direct benefit for the Blackfoot community, it is a place for education, relationship building and spiritual empowerment through landscape. And although there is still “jealousy and animosity” within the Blackfoot community, members are striving to take their matters in their hands, as Crow Shoe claims: “We are pumping out graduates faster than we ever have, in both high school and post-secondary. [. . .] Our younger people are seeing the benefits of education. At this place, with the Interpretive Centre, you see the benefits. You have to set aside those feelings of selling; we are not” (Interview with Crow Shoe 2011). The “ancient archive of buffalo hunting written in pages of dirt and bone” (Kristensen and Donnelly 2018) at HSIBJ, that extends ten metres into the ground and six thousand years into the past, is much more than an educational and tourist site. It anchors a legend of humans immersed in a landscape for millennia. Celebrating the ingenuity of people, it is an interpretation of the past with references to the present, as it has always been seen by the Blackfoot people, containing and connecting culture and science. For Conrad Little Leaf of the Piikani First Nation, the importance of this historic place continues today: “This place is still taking care of us. The story here needs to be told” (quoted in Kristensen and Donnelly 2018).

Bibliography Interviews and Personal Communication Bell, Catherine, Professor of Law, University of Alberta, Edmonton, 14 Oct 2011 Brown, Deloralie, Head of Finance and Visitor Services, HSIBJ Interpretative Centre, Fort Macleod, 13 Oct 2011 and 18 Jun 2020 Brown, Pam, Curator, Pacific Northwest, UBC Museum of Anthropology, Vancouver, 28 Sep 2011 Clarke, Ian, Regional Director, Southern Operations, Historic Sites & Museums Branch, Alberta Culture and Community Spirit, Calgary, 12 Oct 2011 and 15 Aug 2020 Crow Shoe, Quinton W., Site Marketing and Program Coordinator, HSIBJ Interpretative Centre, Fort Macleod, 14 Oct 2011 and 18 Jun 2020

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Daniels, Duncan, Head of Regional Marketing, Historic Sites & Museums Branch, Alberta Culture and Community Spirit, Calgary, 12 Oct 2011 Kiitokii, Kiit, Guide, HSIBJ Interpretative Centre, Fort Macleod, 13 Oct 2011 Knowlton, Stan, Head of Interpretation, HSIBJ Interpretative Centre, Fort Macleod, 16/17 Oct 2011 Small Legs, Edwin, Guide, HSIBJ Interpretative Centre, Fort Macleod, 16 Oct 2011

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Knapp, A. K. et al. 1999. “The Keystone Role of Bison in North American Tallgrass Prairie”, BioScience 49(1), 39–50. Kornfeld, Marcel, George C. Frison and Mary Lou Larsson. 2016. Prehistoric Hunter-Gatherers of the High Plains and Rockies. Third Edition. New York: Routledge. Krech, Shepard, III. 1999. The Ecological Indian: Myth and History. New York: Norton. Kristensen, Tood, and Michael Donnelly. 2018. “Cliffside Stories: How Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump Feeds Today’s Generations,” National Trust for Canada, 16 April, https:// nationaltrustcanada.ca/online-stories/cliffside-stories-how-head-smashed-in-buffalo-jumpfeeds-todays-generations [accessed 05 Aug 2020]. Kroeber, Alfred L. 1939. Cultural and Natural Areas of Native North America. Berkeley: University of California Press. LaRoque, Emma. 1975. Defeathering the Indian. Agincourt: The Book Society of Canada Ltd. Leonard, Joshua L. 2016. Evaluation of Bison (Bison Bison) Ecology at the Olson’s Bison Conservation Ranches, Pine River Ranch, Manitoba, Canada. Master Thesis. Brookings: South Dakota State University. Lewis, Oscar. 1942. The Effects of White Contact Upon Blackfoot Culture with Special Reference to the Role of the Fur Trade. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Linin, Kevin. 2008. “Problems of Governance,” National Post, 20 February, http://www. nationalpost.com/news/canada/rethinkingthereserve/week+problems+governance/280526/ story.html [accessed 23 Aug 2017]. Lokensgard, Kenneth H. 2010. Blackfoot Religion and the Consequences of Cultural Commoditization. Farnham: Ashgate. Lott, Dale. 2002. American Bison: A Natural History. Berkeley: University of California Press. Lowie, Robert H. 1955. Indians of the Plains. New York: American Museum of Natural History. MacLellan, Stephanie. 2014. “Indoor Teepees: Stylish or Racist?,” The Star, 23 January, https:// www.thestar.com/life/2014/01/23/indoor_teepees_stylish_or_racist.html [27 Apr 2021]. Magne, Martin. 1987. “The Old Women’s Phase on the Saskatchewan Plains: Some Ideas,” Archaeology in Alberta 1987, 55–63. Malouf, Carling, and Stuart Conner (editors). 1962. Symposium on Buffalo Jumps. Montana Archaeological Society Memoir No. 1, Montana Archaeological Society, Billings. McFee, Malcolm. 1972. Modern Blackfeet: Montanans on a Reservation. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc. McGinnis, Anthony. 1990. Counting Coup and Cutting Horses: Intertribal Warfare on the Northern Plains, 1738–1889. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. McHugh, Tom. 1972. The Time of the Buffalo. New York: Alfred A. Knopf. McMahon, Tamsin. 2014. “Bigstone’s Lost Opportunity”, Maclean’s, November 21, http://site. macleans.ca/longform/bigstones-lost-opportunity/ [accessed 16 Aug 2917]. Meyer, Carter Jones, and Diana Royer (eds.). 2001. Selling the Indian: Commercializing and Appropriating American Indian Cultures. Tucson: The University of Arizona Press. Miller, Jim R. 2012. “Residential Schools in Canada,” The Canadian Encyclopedia, https://www. thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/residential-schools [accessed . . .]. Miller, Jim R. 2017. Residential Schools and Reconciliation: Canada Confronts Its History. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Morlan, Richard E. 1985. “The 1983 Tests Excavation in the Spring Channel at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, Albert,” in: Brink, Jack W., Milt Wright, Bob Dawe, and Doug Glaum (eds.), Final Report of the 1983 Season at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump Alberta. Archaeological Survey of Alberta Manuscript Series. Edmonton: Alberta Culture, Historical Resource Division, 280–311. Morrison, Dane (ed.). 1997a. American Indian Studies: An Interdisciplinary Approach to Contemporary Issues. New York: Peter Lang. Morrison, Dane. 1997b. “‘A Usable Indian’: The Current Controversy in Museums,” in: Dane Morrison (ed.), American Indian Studies: An Interdisciplinary Approach to Contemporary Issues. New York: Peter Lang, 389–390.

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Narine, Shari. 2002. “$64.3 million settlement gets thumbs up from community”, Sweetgrass, Vol. 9, Issue 11, 4, http://www.ammsa.com/publications/alberta-sweetgrass/643-million-settlementgets-thumbs-community [accessed 18 Aug 2017]. Nicholas, George P. 2009. “Policies and Protocols for Archaeological Sites and Associated Cultural and Intellectual Property,” in: Catherine Bell and Robert K. Patterson (eds.), Protection of First Nations Cultural Heritage: Laws, Policy, and Reform. Vancouver: UBC Press, 203–220. Notzke, Claudia. 2006. “The Stranger, the Native and the Land”: Perspectives on Indigenous Tourism. Concord: Captus Press. Olson, Wes. 2005. Portraits of the Bison: An Illustrated Guide to Bison Society. Edmonton: University of Alberta Press, 2005. Olson, Wes. 2012. A Field Guide to Plains Bison. Val Marie: Timbergulch Press, 2012. Onciul, Bryony. 2015. Museums, Heritage and Indigenous Voice: Decolonizing Engagement. London: Routledge. PC (Parks Canada). 2017. “Plains Bison Return to Banff National Park,” Government of Canada New Release, https://www.canada.ca/en/parks-canada/news/2017/02/plains_bison_ returntobanffnationalpark.html [accessed 24 Jan 2020]. PC (Parks Canada). 2019a. “Banff National Park: Plains Bison Reintroduction”, http://www.pc.gc. ca/en/pn-np/ab/banff/info/gestion-management/bison [accessed 24Jan 2020]. PC (Parks Canada). 2019c. Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, https://www.pc.gc.ca/en/culture/spmwhs/sites-canada/sec02e [accessed 20 Jan 2020]. PC & DHS (Pincher Creek & District Historical Society). 2017. Job title: Interpretive Guide – Visitor Services. Fort Macleod: PC & DHS. PC & DHS (Pincher Creek & District Historical Society). 2019. Job Title: Interpretive Guide – Visitor Services. Fort Macleod: PC & DHS. PC & DHS (Pincher Creek & District Historical Society). 2020. Job Title: Interpretive Guide – Visitor Services. Fort Macleod: PC & DHS. Piikanii Nation. 2023. https://piikanination.com/ [accessed 01 Sept 2023. Raczka, Paul. 2011. “Ponokamita Saam: Horse Medicine of the Blackfoot People,” in: Ned Martin, Mike Cowdrey, and Jody Martin (eds.), Horse and Bridles of the American Indians. Nicasio, CA: Hawk Hill Press, 2–17. Raghavan, Maanasa, et al. 2014. “The Genetic Prehistory of the New World Arctic,” Science, 345(6200), 1020–1029. Rasmussen, Morten, et al. 2014. “The Genome of a Late Pleistocene Human from a Clovis Burial Site in Western Montana,” Nature, 506, 225–229. Reeves, Brian O. K. 1978. “Bison Killing in the Southwestern Alberta Rockies,” Plains Anthropologist, 23 (82), 63–78. Reher, Charles A. 1978. “Buffalo Population and other Deterministic Factors in a Model of Adaptive Processes on the Shortgrass Plains”, Memoir 14, Plains Anthropologist, 23 (82), 23–39. Reher, Charles A., and George C. Frison. 1980. “The Vore Site, 48CK302: A Stratified Buffalo Jump in the Wyoming Black Hills,” Plains Anthropologist, Memoir 16. Lincoln. Relph, Edward. 1976. Place and Placelessness. London: Pion Ltd. Reuters in Calgary. 2017. “Canada Reintroduces Bison to Banff National Park After More than a Century,” The Guardian, 13 February, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2017/feb/13/ canada-reintroduces-bison-banff-national-park [accessed 24 Jan 2020]. Roe, Frank G. 1951. The North American Buffalo: A Critical Studies of the Species in Its Wild State. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Rosier, Paul C. 2001. Rebirth of the Blackfoot Nation, 1912–1954. Lincoln. Univ. of Nebraska Press. Sandalack, Beverly A. 2019. “Head-Smashed-In – Some Challenges Where Site is Museum,” in: Kerstin Smeds and Ann Davis (eds.), Museum & Place. Paris: ICOFOM, 162–170. Siksika Nation. 2019. http://siksikanation.com/wp/ [accessed 02 Jan 2020]. Smith, Laurajane. 2006. Uses of Heritage. London: Routledge.

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Smyth, David. 2001. The Niitsitapi Trade: Euroamericans and the Blackfoot-speaking Peoples, to the Mid-1830. Ottawa: Carleton University. Statistics Canada. 2013a. Blood 148, IRI, Alberta (Code 4803802). National Household Survey Profile. 2011 National Household Survey. Ottawa: Statistics Canada Catalogue no. 99-004-XWE, http://www12.statcan.gc.ca/nhs-enm/2011/dp-pd/prof/index.cfm?Lang=E [accessed 02 Jan 2020]. Statistics Canada. 2013b. Piikani 147, IRI, Alberta (Code 4803801). National Household Survey Profile. 2011 National Household Survey. Ottawa: Statistics Canada Catalogue no. 99-004-XWE, http://www12.statcan.gc.ca/nhs-enm/2011/dp-pd/prof/index.cfm?Lang=E [accessed 02 Jan 2020]. Statistics Canada. 2013c. Siksika 146, IRI, Alberta (Code 4805802). National Household Survey Profile. 2011 National Household Survey. Ottawa: Statistics Canada Catalogue no. 99-004-XWE, http://www12.statcan.gc.ca/nhs-enm/2011/dp-pd/prof/index.cfm?Lang=E [accessed 02 Aug 2020]. Statistics Canada. 2017a. Blood 148, IRI [Census subdivision], Alberta and Division No. 3, CDR, Alberta. Census Profile. 2016 Census. Ottawa: Statistics Canada Catalogue no. 98-316-X2016001, https://www12.statcan.gc.ca/census-recensement/2016/dp-pd/prof/ index.cfm?Lang=E [accessed 02 Jan 2020]. Statistics Canada. 2017b. Piikani 147, IRI [Census subdivision], Alberta and Division No. 3, CDR, Alberta. Census Profile. 2016 Census. Ottawa: Statistics Canada Catalogue no. 98-316-X2016001, https://www12.statcan.gc.ca/census-recensement/2016/dp-pd/prof/ index.cfm?Lang=E [accessed 02 Jan 2020]. Statistics Canada. 2017c. Siksika 146, IRI [Census subdivision], Alberta and Division No. 5, CDR, Alberta. Census Profile. 2016 Census. Ottawa: Statistics Canada Catalogue no. 98-316-X2016001, https://www12.statcan.gc.ca/census-recensement/2016/dp-pd/prof/ index.cfm?Lang=E [accessed 02 Jan 2020]. Statistics Canada. 2018a. Table 11-10-0008-01: Tax filers and dependants with income by total income, sex and age, https://doi.org/10.25318/1110000801-eng [accessed 02 Jan 2020]. Statistics Canada. 2018b. Table 11-10-0009-01: Selected Income Characteristics of Census Families by Family Type, https://doi.org/10.25318/1110000901-eng [accessed 02 Jan 2020]. Stedman, Raymond William. 1982. Shadows of the Indian: Stereotypes in American Culture. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Susemihl, Geneviève. 2007. “The Visual Construction of the North American Indian in the World of German Children”, in: Nicole Leonhardt et al. (eds.), Visual Culture Revisited, Köln: von Halem, 267–291. Susemihl, Geneviève. 2008. “The Imaginary Indian in German Children’s Non-Fiction Literature”, in: Kerstin Knopf (ed.), Aboriginal Canada Revisited, University of Ottawa Press, 122–156. Susemihl, Geneviève. 2019. “‘We Are Key Players. . .’: Creating Indigenous Engagement and Community Control at Blackfoot Heritage Sites in Time,” in: Mario Trono and Robert Boschman (eds.), On Active Grounds: Agency and Time in the Environmental Humanities. Waterloo, ON: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 139–163. Susemihl, Geneviève. 2020. “Intersectionality and the Construction of Cultural Heritage: Indigenous Women’s Presentation and Participation at Canadian Heritage Sites and Museums,” Zeitschrift für Kanada-Studien, 40, 35–57. The Blackfoot Gallery Committee. 2013. The Story of the Blackfoot People: Nitsitapiisinni. Richmond Hill, ON: Firefly Books. The Task Force on Aboriginal Languages and Cultures. 2005. Towards a New Beginning: A Foundational Report for a Strategy to Revitalize First Nation, Inuit and Métis Languages and Cultures. Executive Summery, Ottawa: The Task Force. Thorpe, Jocelyn. 2016. “Indian Residential Schools: An Environmental and Gender History”, The Otter, NICHE: Network in Canadian History & Environment, 27 April, http://niche-canada. org/2016/04/27/indian-residential-schools-an-environmental-and-gender-history/ [accessed 28 Sep 2017].

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Chapter 5

Collaboration and Cooperation: SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas

There comes a time when a people got to do what a people got to do, and when the stakes are your land and your culture losing is not an option. Guujaaw, President of the Haida Nation 1999–2012 (The Haida Nation 2010, 2.) The Haida people are the Haida people because of the land and the sea around us. We are a product of it – we are a part of it and we are connected to it. If we don’t protect it, there won’t be an ‘us’ anymore. Xiihliikingang/April Churchill (April Churchill, quoted in Wienke 2015, n.p.)

Abstract The chapter traces the designation process of the World Heritage site of SGang Gwaay, including Haida involvement, and examines the co-operative management process of Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve. Being the largest of several areas on the archipelago set aside to safeguard the sensitive ecosystem on Haida Gwaii, it demonstrates the Haida’s connection to their land and heritage that has aided a process of empowerment and resulted in the Haida Nation being co-owners and managers of their traditional land and heritage. Analyzing the importance of the World Heritage site of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas, the chapter further focuses on the ‘use’ of Gwaii Haanas and community programs connected to the heritage site, such as youth and language programs, representation of Haida culture and history at the Haida Gwaii Museum, and the process of repatriation. Additionally, a brief overview of Haida history and culture is given, and tourism and resource management at Gwaii Haanas are explored, as both have been motives for Haida activism and engagement for many decades. Keywords SGang Gwaay, Gwaii Haanas · Haida Gwaii · Haida · Haida Gwaii Watchmen · Haida Heritage Centre · Cooperative management · Tourism · Repatriation · Reconciliation

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 G. Susemihl, Claiming Back Their Heritage, Heritage Studies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-40063-6_5

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Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve, National Marine Conservation Area Reserve, and Haida Heritage Site, which includes the World Heritage site of SGang Gwaay, is located on Haida Gwaii, a remote archipelago 120 km off the Northwest Pacific coast of Canada. Xaayda gwaay,1 the “islands of the Haida people,” consists of two main islands, Graham Island and Moresby Island, along with over 200 smaller islands with a total landmass of 10,180 km2. Known for its rugged coastlines, majestic mountains, stunning array of marine life and giant cedars, it is a place where land and sea are woven into Haida culture. For thousands of years, the Haida have been living on the islands, thriving on the wealth of the sea and the forest. Shellfish and salmon were staple foods; giant Western red cedars were the raw material of ocean-going canoes, vast post-and-plank houses and monumental poles. Today, about 5000 Haida and non-Indigenous residents live in several communities on the two largest islands, in an eclectic mix of cultures and lifestyles, striving to restore balance to the islands, improve their economy and build a sustainable culture for the next generation. For the Haida, their connection to their land and heritage has aided a process of empowerment that resulted in the Haida Nation being co-owners and managers of their traditional land and heritage. Regarded as one of the last and most pristine natural places on earth, Haida Gwaii is also one of the most complex and rich ecosystems in Canada and often referred to as the ‘Galápagos of the North’ for its endemic wildlife. Isolated from the mainland for millennia and the fact that it was not glaciated during the Ice Age has made the islands a showcase of evolution with species found here that are non-existent elsewhere. Gwaii Haanas is the largest of several areas on the islands set aside to safeguard this sensitive ecosystem.2 It is also the result of a hard-won battle by the Haida with forest companies and the Canadian government and plays a significant role in the social and spiritual empowerment of the Haida Nation, who established a co-operative management at Gwaii Haanas. Furthermore, a number of programs have been created to communicate traditional Haida culture through heritage. The Haida Gwaii Watchmen and Rediscovery Camps link culture to the environment, and the Haida Heritage Centre and the Haida Gwaii Museum serve as important communicators of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas for the community and tourists. Tangible heritage, such as totem poles and remains of longhouses, and intangible heritage, including language, ceremonies and stories, work together in Haida identity building, empowerment and community development.

1

Depending on the Haida dialect, Haida Gwaii translates into Xaayda gwaay or Xaaydaga Gwaay. yaay. 2 Also protected, but under provincial legislation, are several parks, the largest of which is Naikoon Provincial Park on northeastern Graham Island. Designated in 1973, Naikoon is traditional territory of the Haida Nation and figures prominently in their present lifestyles and history. There are many places of cultural and spiritual importance such as historic village sites and important food gathering sites throughout the park, while evidence of colonial settlements can also be found. Tow Hill and Rose Spit are iconic natural features that are prominent in Haida traditional stories. Other parks and reserves on Haida Gwaii are Pure Lake Provincial Park, Delkatla Wildlife Sanctuary, Drizzle Lake Ecological Reserve and Vladimir J. Krajina Ecological Reserve.

5.1

The World Heritage Site of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas

241

This chapter traces the designation process of the World Heritage site of SGang Gwaay, including Haida involvement, and examines the current management process. It also gives an overview of the culture and history of the Haida people, as this information helps understand their current lifestyle and challenges. Analyzing the importance of the World Heritage site, the chapter focuses on the ‘use’ of Gwaii Haanas and community programs connected to the heritage site such as youth programs, the revitalization of the language, the representation of Haida culture and history through the Haida Gwaii Museum, and the process of repatriation. Furthermore, tourism and resource management at Gwaii Haanas are looked at, as both have been motives for Haida activism and engagement for many decades.

5.1

The World Heritage Site of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas

For the Haida, the sites of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas have always been part of their environment. When the village of SGang Gwaay was designated a World Heritage site in 1981, ICOMOS used the colonial rhetoric of the nineteenth century and recognized it for its traces of a “vanished civilization.” Yet the Haida, their culture and society are very much alive and thriving. While the UNESCO designation of their ancient village took place without their participation, the site is of high significance for the heirs and, in their effort to protect the land from logging and other resource extractions, the Council of the Haida Nation designated Gwaii Haanas land and sea, which included SGang Gwaay, as a Haida Heritage site in 1985. The connection of the people and the land remains strong, and the ecological, environmental, cultural and historical significance of Haida Gwaii needs to be understood to comprehend Haida engagement with the protection and conservation of their homeland and heritage site.

5.1.1

Description and Significance of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas

The World Heritage site of SGang Gwaay3 is located on the small, remote island of SGang Gwaay (Anthony Island) and, according to ICOMOS (1981a), bears “unique testimony to the vanished civilization of the Haida Indians, a tribe living essentially from hunting and fishing in the archipelago which extends the length of the west

3 SGang Gwaay Ilnagaay (ilnagaay = village) was also called “Ninstints”, a corruption of the name of the chief of the village, Nañ stins (“He who is two”) by Europeans. The Haida named the place Sqa’ngwa-i lnaga’i, Red Cod Island Town or Wailing Island Town (MacDonald 1983, 7; Interview with Wilson 2011).

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coast of British Columbia.” The village was inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage list in 1981,4 recognizing the art represented by the carved poles at SGang Gwaay to be “among the finest example of its type in the world” (UNESCO 2021d). While much of the village’s structures have been consumed by time and the elements, the remains of ten large cedar long houses and 32 carved totem poles, sculpted with stylized anthropo-zoomorphic figures, illustrate the art and way of life of the Haida, commemorate the power and artistry of a rich and vibrant society, and offer a visual key to their oral traditions. SGang Gwaay is part of the Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve, National Marine Conservation Area Reserve, and Haida Heritage Site. Since 2004, Gwaii Haanas has been registered on Canada’s Tentative List as a mixed site.5 Perched at the edge of the continental shelf, the terrestrial area of Gwaii Haanas covers about 15 percent of southern Haida Gwaii – approximately 1495 km2 of the southern portion of Moresby Island, including 138 islands and 1700 km of shoreline. As of 2010, the terrestrial and marine area of Gwaii Haanas covers a 5000 km2 protected area (AMB 2018). Besides SGang Gwaay, remains of other former Haida villages, among them T’aanuu Llnagaay (Tanu) and Ḵ’uuna Llnagaay (Skedans), are located within the park reserve and Haida Heritage site (see Fig. 5.1). These villages and more than 600 further archaeological features in the park – some of which date back 12,000 years – give evidence of Haida occupation and activities in the region (AMB 2018, 18; Acheson 2005). The rich and living culture of the Haida people permeates the region, and traditional narratives, songs, place names and language relate this area intimately to Haida history and way of life. The natural resources of the area, with their abundance of essential ingredients for sustenance and growth, are an integral part of Haida traditional culture and life with the land and sea. Natural features of Gwaii Haanas range from the San Christoval Mountains, which form the backbone of the area, to fiords, freshwater lakes, old-growth temperate rainforests and a rich diversity and abundance of wildlife. Altogether, the Gwaii Haanas National Marine Conservation Area Reserve extends about ten kilometres offshore from Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve and Haida Heritage Site and encompasses 3400 km2 of the Hecate Strait and Queen Charlotte Shelf Marine Regions. From temperate coastal rainforests to marine kelp forests, Gwaii Haanas is home to some of the most productive biological communities in the world. It includes highly diverse living intertidal and sub-tidal marine communities, is a primary feeding habitat of the humpback whale, and hosts large seabird breeding colonies. Marine mammals are abundant, including sea lions, porpoises, killer whales and migrating grey whales.2 Gwaii Haanas supports both resident and migratory animals that depend on, and connect, the land, sea and SGang Gwaay was inscribed as Anthony Island under criterion iii, “to bear a unique or at least exceptional testimony to a cultural tradition or to a civilization which is living or which has disappeared” (UNESCO 2021d). Its name was changed into SGang Gwaii in 2000 and into SGang Gwaay in 2006. 5 Gwaii Haanas is listed under natural and cultural criteria (iii)(v)(vi)(vii)(ix)(x); see UNESCO 2004. 4

5.1

The World Heritage Site of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas

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Fig. 5.1 Remains of totem poles at K’uuna Llnagaay (Skedans). (Photo by Susemihl)

people. Keystone species such as taan (black bear)6 and guud (bald eagle) transfer marine nutrients to the land during china (salmon) spawning season in the fall by distributing carcasses around the forest (Simberloff 1999). In recent history, however, the introduction and spread of invasive species such as deer, raccoons, squirrels, beavers and rats have contributed to population declines in seabirds and other animals and plants native to Gwaii Haanas (AMB 2010, 2018). Since the beginning, Haida communities have sustained themselves on the abundance of Gwaii Haanas. Haida village sites and seasonal camps are located on the east and west coasts, connected by historic trails. Food harvesting7 occurs throughout the year, beginning with iinang (herring), and families spend much time gathering food including k’aaw (herring spawn-on-kelp), k’yuu (clams), xaaguu (halibut) and chiina (salmon). Gwaii Haanas is also of great spiritual importance, as Haida culture is intertwined with all of creation in the land, sea, air

6 The Haida Gwaii black bear (Ursus americana carlottae) is also considered an endemic species; for a discussion of the evolution of endemic species on Haida Gwaii, see Reimchen and Byun 2005). 7 Well-used harvesting areas in Gwaii Haanas include K’iid (Burnaby Narrows), T’aanuu Llnagaay (Tanu), T’aanuu Xyangs (Richardson Inlet), Didxwahxyangs (Darwin Sound), Gandaawuu.ngaay Xyangs (Juan Perez Sound), and Suu Kaahlii (Skincuttle Inlet), all situated on the east coast of Haida Gwaii (AMB 2018, 9).

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and spirit worlds of Haida Gwaii. In their cosmology, humans exist between the undersea and sky worlds, that are shared with other creatures and supernatural beings. Several Kayxal (raven clans) trace their origin to SGuuluu Jaad (Foam Woman), who arose from a reef in Skincuttle Inlet as sea levels subsided. Haida oral traditions also tell of the origins of Haida Gwaii, the supernaturals that inhabit many places in Gwaii Haanas, and the kuuniisii (ancestors), who came out of the ocean. Barbara Wilson, who has been studying these “long, long ago stories”, explains: We have origin stories, maps that show where we are, stories about the changing sea levels and why we became an isolate, and what it means language-wise and what it means as people and about our culture. Instead of calling it our culture, I call it our life ways, because I feel that when you call it culture you’re looking through somebody else’s glasses at a place, whereas if you call it life ways it is just the way we live (Interview with Wilson 2011; see also Kii7iljuus and Harris 2005).

Traditionally, the Haida lived in villages throughout Gwaii Haanas and were governed through a clan system to manage relationships between the land, sea and people. Today, many Haida find spiritual connection and inspiration by gathering traditional foods and medicinal plants, working as Haida Gwaii Watchmen or enjoying time on the land. The rich abundance of Haida Gwaii sustained communities for thousands of years through to the present day, defining a culture rooted in the relationship between humans and the natural and supernatural worlds (AMB 2018, 5; MacDonald 1989, 16). As a World Heritage site, SGang Gwaay provides a globally significant example of living Haida culture, illustrating the long and enduring relationship between the people and their environment through monumental poles, architecture and current use of the area. The cultural significance of Gwaii Haanas has also been recognized locally, nationally and internationally. Connecting Haida culture and life ways to the past, present and future of Gwaii Haanas resulted in improved stewardship and a greater sense of place and belonging. Following the early fur trade, the natural richness of Gwaii Haanas continued to support industrial activities and the growth of new settlements.8 Evidence of this industrial period remains on the Gwaii Haanas landscape and includes Kilslaay Kaajii Sding GawGa (Sedgwick Bay), the site of the logging blockade in 1985. This conflict initiated a turning point in the relationship between the Haida Nation, provincial and federal governments and local communities with respect to governance of Haida Gwaii. Overall, the designation of Gwaii Haanas as a protected area under Haida and Canadian law represents a rare achievement, which resulted in the cooperative management of land and sea through the signing of the Gwaii Haanas Agreement and the continued commitment by the Haida Nation and Canada to work together which serves as a model for the world.

8 New settlements included Rose Harbour (whaling), Powrivco (logging), Bag Harbour (fishing), as well as Jedway and Ikeda Cove (mining).

5.1

The World Heritage Site of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas

5.1.2

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Protection of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas

Protecting the heritage site of SGang Gwaay, which once counted more than 300 inhabitants, but was deserted by 1880, began when between 1897 and 1913 the naturalist and artifact collector Charles Newcombe9 made a thorough photographic inventory and sketched maps of all the abandoned villages. He was unable to remove actual monuments from the village because of its remoteness, but he collected smaller items brought to other villages. The first poles were removed in 1938 and taken to Prince Rupert, and serious efforts to salvage monuments from the village began after the Second World War. In 1947, for example, the anthropologist Marius Barbeau10 led a National Museum of Man expedition, which visited most of the Haida villages, including SGang Gwaay (then called Ninstints), to record the carvings, “to determine what could be saved, and to begin negotiation with the Haida descendants of the original owners regarding removal of pieces from their ancestral house sites” (MacDonald 1983, 52). Later, during an expedition in 1957, the first archaeological tests were conducted at SGang Gwaay, and Wilson Duff,11 curator of anthropology at the Provincial Museum of BC, purchased a number of poles that could be salvaged and preserved. As a result, a major salvage operation12 was launched by the University of British Columbia and the Provincial Museum that recovered all or parts of twenty-three sculptured monuments and compiled a rich record of photography, films and notes. Seven of the poles were brought to the Museum of Anthropology in Vancouver (see Figs. 5.2 and 5.3); others went to Victoria and other museums in the province. Moreover, during this expedition, the first map recording the location of every monument and house in the village was produced by John Smyly. On the basis of the material and information collected, Duff advised the provincial government to declare the site a provincial park, which it did in 1958. Since SGang Gwaay had never been set aside as a reserve, because few of the inhabitants of the village had survived, there was no interference with the Haida, who had settled in Old Masset and Skidegate (MacDonald 1983, 52–55). In the following years, other scholars made several trips to SGang Gwaay, adding further elements to the existing records, among them anthropologist George

9

Charles Frederick Newcombe (1851–1924) was a British botanist and ethnographic researcher. In 1897, he started collecting Haida artifacts for the Field Columbian Museum in Chicago. Later, he acquired totem poles for the Royal British Columbia Museum, the Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford, and the British Museum, among others. 10 Charles Marius Barbeau (1883–1969) was a Canadian ethnographer and folklorist and is considered a founder of Canadian anthropology. He was an early proponent of recognizing totem poles as world-class high art. 11 Wilson Duff (1925–1976) was a Canadian archaeologist, cultural anthropologist and curator of the Royal British Columbia Museum (RBCM) in Victoria from 1950 to 1965. 12 The campaign was made possible through the initiative and support of Walter C. Koerner (1898–1995), a Czech-born businessman and philanthropist in Vancouver.

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Figs. 5.2 and 5.3 Interior house post (ca. 1850), taken from SGang Gwaay in 1957, and housefront pole (ca. 1870), in four pieces, taken from Tanu in 1954, Museum of Anthropology, Vancouver. (Photos by Susemihl)

F. MacDonald.13 In 1972, he submitted his Thematic Study: Aboriginal Peoples – Haida and Tsimshian to the National Historic Sites and Monuments Board of Canada, that included brief summaries “of the major villages of both tribes, along with comments on their present condition, setting, accessibility, and when still inhabited, the attitude of inhabitants to commemoration or development” (MacDonald 1972, i). In the report, he recommended ten villages as designated heritage sites, favouring Haina in terms of accessibility and proximity to modern communities; SGang Gwaay/Ninstints only featured on a secondary list. MacDonald stated: It is exceedingly difficult to rate Haida villages in terms of merit for commemoration as each is unique in terms of its importance in Haida history, and its expression of monumental art and architecture. [. . .] If commemoration takes the form of plaqueing only I would recommend that all ten villages so to be recognized. If a more restricted number is deemed advisable, I would suggest the following order of priority, with the number established by the Board: 1. Skidegate; 2. Skedans; 3. Tanu; 4. Kiusta; 5. Yan; 6. Cumshewa; 7. Chaatl; 8. Haina; 9. Dadens; 10. Yaku.

At some later date the ten remaining historic villages may also be deemed worthy of designation. A secondary list might contain the following villages: 1. Ninstints (already recognized provincially); 2. Kaisun; 3. Kayang; 4.Kung; 5. Hiellan; 6. Yatze; 7. Tian

It should also be pointed out that the Queen Charlotte Islands are uniquely suited for a sizable National Park for many reasons in addition to the historical once dealt with

13 In the late 1960s and early 1970s, the anthropologist and later museum director George F. MacDonald made several trips to SGang Gwaay to refine details of the existing maps and to take photographs and shoot films for the new galleries of the National Museum of Man in Ottawa (today the Canadian Museum of Civilization).

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in this study. Such factors would include their unique flora and fauna which have been cut off from their mainland relatives since the end of the Pleistocene. Choosing village sites suitable for restoration and interpretation would involve factors such as accessibility for visitors and proximity to modern communities, which were not included in the priority raring of the primary list of ten villages. The best site for restoration in my opinion would be Haina (MacDonald 1972, 32).

In order to have a wide representation of the islands’ culture, MacDonald nominated all these places to be considered as national historic sites, at the same time making a pitch to the powers for SGang Gwaay – or Ninstints – to be considered to have World Heritage site designation (Interview with Wilson 2011). In the following years, a series of studies was launched to examine long-term measures to safeguard what remained at SGang Gwaay. The islets and foreshore of SGang Gwaay were declared an Ecological Reserve in 1979 and designated a Provincial Archaeological and Heritage Site in 1980. In the same year, a longterm management plan was worked out for the site, and the village was proposed by the Federal Government of Canada through its representative, Peter Bernett, to the World Heritage list of UNESCO on behalf of the Province of British Columbia. Finally, in 1981, SGang Gwaay was declared a World Heritage site. Throughout the decades, there was little Haida involvement in the conservation initiatives of SGang Gwaay, as Wilson suggests: “Because the records in Skidegate, in our band office, don’t exist, it’s hard to know the amount of input that happened from our own people. Presumably someone said, oh yeah, go ahead, and never gave it another thought” (Interview with Wilson 2011). Most likely, the Haida had no interest in or even resisted a designation, as they were afraid this would prevent economic development, as Wilson points out with more recent commemoration plans of Parks Canada: About ten years ago we went up to Masset, because we wanted to put plaques on the different sites. The people who came from Yan told us to back off. They told us they didn’t want any designations on the land, because it’s colonial, and the people were afraid that if it had a designation it would mean they couldn’t do anything economically (Interview with Wilson 2011).

Indigenous involvement was also minimal, because the Haida had their own issues to focus on, such as matters of survival and providing for their families and communities; “some old poles” were therefore of little importance at that time, as Wilson explains: If you think about the time – that was before 1985 when we had the Lyell Island protest – things were still fairly dorsal amongst the Nation. I think that we were so conditioned to behaving ourselves. What you see today – we are so different. Laws have changed since then. We’ve only got the right to start celebrating our culture in 1951 again; we’ve only got the right to vote in 1961. The poles and ceremonies and everything that went on with it had been underground for a hundred years, and that’s been four, five, six generations. When I was a little girl, my mother was saying to me, leave the old times behind, you have to survive in a White world. We’re almost all doing that. So a bunch of poles down south, when you’ve got to feed your children – there is no money for us to worry about some old poles (Interview with Wilson 2011).

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Being declared a World Heritage site, however, initiated a new phase of interest in the preservation of SGang Gwaay, and a long-term conservation and management plan was developed that would ensure that a “significant portion of the site was preserved for the education and enjoyment of native people, scholars, and the public” (MacDonald 1983, 56). Moreover, as a consequence of the conflict that arose between the resource extraction industry and the Haida and environmental NGOs who wanted to preserve the region, Gwaii Haanas was created (Gill 2009). This resulted in a cooperative management and true Haida involvement in the preservation process, which has been supporting Haida community development. To protect features of spiritual and cultural importance today, “sites and areas with significant spiritual, cultural and/or archaeological values are documented and protected, consistent with Haida law, and Haida traditional knowledge and laws about Gwaii Haanas (e.g., Haida place names, oral traditions) are shared as appropriate” (AMB 2018, 19). To better understand Haida involvement in the preservation process, however, an understanding of the history and culture of the people is required.

5.2

The Haida of Haida Gwaii: History and Culture of a People and a Place

The Haida Gwaii archipelago is home to the Haida, one of the most prominent Northwest Coast First Nation cultures in Canada.14 For more than 10,000 years, the Haida have been living on the islands, hunting land and sea mammals, salmon and other fish, and surviving fluctuating sea levels, climate change and natural disasters. Once, more than 30,000 Haida lived in 126 known villages on the islands, including Skidegate, Skedans, Tanu and SGang Gwaay in the South, and Masset in the North. Noted seafarers, they were skilled traders, with established trade links on the mainland, and had a stable existence and vibrant culture at the time of European contact. They inhabited isolated villages of more than 300 people and lived in small family bands in communal dwellings built in a thin line along narrow stretches of beach or rockbound coves, on one side facing the dangerous ocean, on the other, dense forests. Their culture is marked on every tree and rock; their stories, language and history entwine with xuya (raven), taan (bear), guud (eagle) and chiina (salmon). The rugged terrain, abundant wildlife, cedar forests and proximity to the sea were elements that enabled them to survive for centuries. Throughout time, new tools and techniques for woodworking, hunting and fishing were added, and slowly their 14 According to qiigang (Haida legend), Raven the Trickster was heavily involved with the creation of the Haida. He not only released the sun from a tiny box, bringing light into the world, but he discovered the first Haida people at Rose Spit, the thin strip of land on the northern end of Haida Gwaii. Walking along the shore, Raven heard a noise coming from a clamshell. He opened the shell with his beak and out came the First Men. Later, according to legend, he created women by tossing chitons onto the men (Reid and Bringhurst 2003; Waller 2014).

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culture was transformed into the culture of the Haida known today. Their continued survival depends on good stewardship of the land, respect for the earth and its inhabitants, and resilience – as demonstrated in their political life and economic progress, the revival of their language and other forms of cultural and social tradition.15

5.2.1

Haida Society and Culture

The Haida are divided into two strictly exogamic clans or k’waalaa, also called moieties – the Ravens, yahl, and the Eagles, goud. A Raven person must marry an Eagle person, and vice versa, which ties the two clans together. The two moieties are subdivided into numerous sub-groups or lineages, each taking its name from the village it originally inhabited. Each lineage is further subdivided into separate households, whose members traditionally occupied a common dwelling and recognized the authority of a house chief. Each lineage has a founding ancestor and a history which serves as basis for claiming certain rights and privileges. Songs, dances, crests for use in carving and names belonging to the lineage link it with the ancestral and supernatural sources of power. The members of each group proudly display symbols and crests representing their membership. Crests,16 generally representations of animals, were originally obtained from supernatural beings or purchased from another family. Through potlatches, new crests could be introduced in the form of masks, tattoo designs or house post motifs (MacDonald 1989; Swanton 1905a). In Haida society, two classes of people were recognized: the nobility and a lower class. Slaves, usually captives from rival villages, were considered to be outside the social order. They helped in the household, prepared food, slept in the same house and were generally treated well (Interview with Wilson 2011). Haida society is based on a matrilineal system of descent. A chief’s property and privileges were inherited by his sister’s sons, while his own sons inherited the property of his wife’s brother. Certain prerogatives, such as the right to use specific titles and personal, house and canoe names, the right to wear particular objects such as masks and to carve them upon their houses, canoes and poles, and the right to perform certain songs and dances, especially during potlatches, are among the people’s hereditary privileges. Wealth also consisted of the right of access to both natural and supernatural resources, such as hunting grounds, fishing streams, berrypicking patches or stretches of beaches (MacDonald 1989; Swanton 1905a).

15

For a short overview of Haida cultural history see Fedje and Mackie (2005); for an overview of the European history of the islands see Dalzell’s The Queen Charlotte Islands 1774–1966 (1968); her second book, The Queen Charlotte Islands Volume 2: Places and Names (1973), is a quick reference to the history of place names. 16 While crests have often been referred to as totems, Swanton (1905a) explains that they have “no proper totemic significance”, but their use marks “the social position of the wearers” (11).

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Certain symbols of wealth were products that could not be obtained on the islands, but had to be acquired through trading and gifting, such as mountain goat wool or the oil of the eulachon fish. Copper, associated with Copper Woman of Haida myth, was the ultimate symbol of wealth among the Haida. Throughout the coast, beautifully engraved copper shields17 were exchanged between chiefs at potlatch feasts, and some chiefs would owe a dozen or more and liked do display their coppers and furs at potlatches, as Wilson explains: There was copper on the islands, but it may not have been as soft or as pliable as the stuff they got from Stikine or the Taku area. It was a sign of prestige. If you had somebody up there who gifted you a big piece of copper, you would want to be able to show that you had that kind of influence (Interview with Wilson 2011).

To the Haida, their world was like “the edge of a knife,” “cutting between the depths of the sea, which to them symbolized the underworld, and the forested mountainside, which marked the transition to the upper world” (MacDonald 1989, 15). The saying also signified “the narrow margin between life and death, and what a slight cause is required to bring about a change from one to the other” (Swanton 1905a, 37). They embellished their villages with boldly carved monuments and brightly painted emblems, signifying their identity and representing the creatures of both worlds who presented a balanced statement of the forces of their universe. Haida cosmology divides the cosmos into three zones: the sky world, the earth and the underworld. Animals and birds such as the grizzly bear, eagle and raven represented the upper world of forests and heaven, while sea mammals and fish, especially killer whales and salmon, symbolized the underworld. The transitions between realms were bridged by amphibians such as frogs, beavers and otters; hybrid mythological creatures such as sea grizzlies and sea wolves symbolized a merging of cosmic zones (MacDonald 1989; Swanton 1905a). The Haida were known as coastal travellers and fierce warriors, and the canoe was critical to the success of their culture. With their canoes, they were able to travel between communities on Haida Gwaii or trade with neighbouring coastal tribes. Freight and war canoes, hollowed out of single cedar logs, were able to hold as many as forty people or carry ten tons of freight and navigate large seas. Their houses were also built of huge cedar beams and planks which were worked out with stone adzes and wedges. When a chief had accumulated the wealth required to build a house, he

17

There are many theories about where and how the t’aaGuu or copper shield originated. One theory associates the unique shape of the copper with a turtle. Ancient oral histories speak of a supernatural sea creature that emerged “from the waters in the shape of a big house” and brings power and wealth. This ‘creature’ might have been brought to Haida Gwaii by the warm Japanese current that is strong enough to carry treasures and creatures. The ‘wealth’ carried to the shores coincided with rare sightings of unknown ocean beasts, giving the impression that these ‘supernatural beings’ had actually brought the wealth. The most likely of the creatures to be labeled the ‘wealth-giving sea creature’ is the Green sea turtle (Chelonia mydas). According to some Tlingit Elders, the copper shield, which has the shape of a thin ax blade, symbolizes the forehead of this creature, and it indeed looks similar to the combined centre plates on the forehead of the turtle (Exhibition at the Haida Gwaii Museum 2011).

5.2

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contracted people from the other moiety to assemble the building materials and put the house together at great feasts. As the abode of the living and an embodiment of their ancestors, the Haida house functioned in the secular realm as a dwelling and in the spiritual realm as a ceremonial centre. It was a manifestation of the cosmos, containing human social life in the same way that the universe contained the natural world (Dawson 1880, 1882; MacDonald 1989). Perhaps the most visible of the Haida art form is the totem pole18 – gyaaGang19 in Xaayda Kíl, the Haida language. The Haida claim that they were the first to make tall multiple-figure poles, and their oral histories indicate that the tradition of carving poles is a very ancient one.20 Indeed, the refined conventions of Haida art survived the ravages of colonialism “absolutely intact,” suggesting “great stability and, perhaps, antiquity,” proposes Holm (1965, 5). The introduction of European woodworking tools had a major influence on Haida material culture, and new metal tools allowed the expression of Haida monumental art and architecture on a scale previously not possible, although the styles and prototypes had been worked out through many centuries of village life on Haida Gwaii. These great columns are often referred to as “story-telling poles” (Malin 1986, 104), as the multiple figures illustrate narratives that might recount recent historical events involving members of a particular family or timeless legends involving mythological characters. Carved from giant red cedar trees, the poles often also depicted the animal life around them. The Haida distinguish between four different types of poles.21 The tall house frontal poles tell the story of the people living in the house. Placed against the house front facing the beach, they often served as doorways of houses with the entrance through a hole at the bottom. Carved interior house posts support the roof beams. The free standing memorial poles, placed in front of houses to honour deceased relatives whose remains were deposited elsewhere, had a single crest figure at the base and often figures of an eagle or raven at the top. Mortuary poles, finally, were stout posts, hollowed out at the top to receive the grave box (a bentwood box) of a chief in a niche at the top. A front plaque, decorated with a crest, sealed the front of the chamber and a similar plank formed the roof (MacDonald 1989, 25–28).

The term ‘totem pole’ is not a native Northwest Coast phrase, and the use of the term ‘totem’ referring to images of family crests or emblems is not accurate. The word ‘totem’ derives from the Ojibwa word ototeman, and ‘totemism’ in anthropological terms refers to the belief that a kin group is descended from a certain animal and treats it with special care, refraining from eating or hunting it. The figures carved on Northwest Coast poles generally represent ancestors and supernatural beings that were once encountered by the ancestors of the lineage, who thereby acquired the right to represent them as crests, symbols of their identity and records of their history (Wright n.d.; Interview with Wilson 2011). 19 There are several different spellings according to Haida dialect, e.g., Gyáa’aang (Wright n.d.). 20 The Canadian anthropologist Diamond Jenness (1886–1969) credits the Haida with the introduction of the totem pole tradition (Kasaan Haida Heritage Foundation 2017). 21 For more information on Haida totem poles, see also Halpin 1981; Hoyt 2008; Jensen 1992; Keithahn 1945; MacDonald, 1983, 1994; Smyly 1975; Stewart 1984, 1993; Susemihl 2016; and Wright n.d. 18

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A vital component of the complex intra- and intertribal legal system amongst the Haida was the ceremony of potlatch22 (waahlgahl) – a highly regulated ceremony integral to the governing structure, culture and spiritual traditions of various Indigenous peoples living on the Northwest Coast. Historically, the potlatch functioned to redistribute wealth, confer status and rank upon individuals, kin groups and clans, and to establish claims to names, powers and rights. Valuable goods, such as blankets, clothing, carved cedar boxes, canoes, food and prestige items, such as slaves and coppers, were accumulated by high-ranking individuals over time and later bestowed on invited guests as gifts by the host or even destroyed with great ceremony as a show of generosity, status and prestige over rivals. In addition to its economic redistributive and kinship functions, the potlatch maintained community solidarity and hierarchical relations within and between bands and nations. The potlatch includes ceremonial feasting, entertaining and witnessing of important events, and concludes with the distribution of gifts to the attendees proportionate to their class and status within the Nation – a demonstration of the host clans’ wealth and confidence in their ability to re-amass this wealth (Boas 1889; Codere 1950; Gadacz 2006; Swanton 1905a; Weiss 2018).

5.2.2

Haida History from Times of Contact to the Twentieth Century

One of the first Europeans to visit the archipelago was the Spanish explorer Juan Pérez,23 although the Russians may have been aware of the islands earlier. Indeed, Haida narratives note that contact with the Chinese was made as early as 1424. Looking for new lands to claim for Spain and trying to cut off the southern advance of the Russians, Pérez sailed up the west coast in 1774. He traded with the Haida from his ship, Santiago, near Langara Island, which he named Cape Santa Margarita, not being aware that the islands were separate from the rest of the coast. Four years later, Captain James Cook’s fatal last voyage also took him along the west coast of Haida Gwaii. It was the French explorer Jean François de Galaup, comte de La

The word ‘potlatch’ comes from patshatl in the Chinook Jargon, a widespread trade language, and means ‘giving’ in the sense of giving a gift. 23 The long accepted assumption that the Spanish were the first Europeans to visit and meet the Haida has been challenged by the Haida and other scholars. Based on Pérez’ diary, White (2006) provides evidence to reconsider the voyage of the Santiago as the first European ship in Haida waters. The fact that the Haida went to meet the ship suggests that the Haida were used to such encounters. Pérez observed the manner of trade and commented that the Haida were very adept at the process, which indicates experience not only with the process, but with foreigners as well. The presence of iron instruments suggests direct contact with Europeans, and the term used for Europeans, Yaats Ha’day, “the Iron people,” points to prior contact. Indeed, Pérez’ officer Mourelle writes that Pérez thought the instruments may have been from the Russians who visited the area in 1741. 22

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Pérouse, however, who was the first to identify the land as islands. In 1786 he drew the first map of the islands, naming several mountains and waters (even though the Haida had their own names for places), yet leaving the islands without a name. This changed a year later, when in 1787 George Dixon, trading for the King George’s Sound Company and claiming new lands for Britain, anchored south of Langara Island and named the archipelago after his ship, Queen Charlotte.24 He traded with the Kunghit Haida of SGang Gwaay, and his purser William Beresford recorded: “In less than half an hour, we purchased near three hundred beaver skins, of an excellent quality; a circumstance which greatly raised our spirits” (Dixon 1789, 201). By the time Dixon had circumnavigated the islands he had traded for some 2000 skins, which brought a high price in the markets of Macao. When the first European ships arrived at the archipelago, the Haida took them for floating houses containing great wealth, sent by the ancestors and manned by ghosts. They greeted the Europeans with ritual gestures and songs of welcome intended for meetings with the supernaturals. Many legends told of fishermen who had encountered beings who controlled the wealth of the sea, and the people’s appearance and their ships matched these accounts. This idea was emphasized once the true wealth of the strange, white beings, in iron, copper and other highly desired objects was revealed (MacDonald 1989, 20). When news of Dixon’s bonanza reached the rest of the world, the Queen Charlotte Islands became the hub of fur trading activity on the north Pacific coast. For the next decades they were visited by hundreds of ships, and the Haida conducted regular trade with Russian, Spanish, British and American fur traders and whalers. Europeans set up trading alliances to take control of the areas’ fur resources which contributed to the exchange of cultures and trade goods. The pelts of the sea otter, a resource worth a small fortune and highly prized in China, initiated a flourishing trade between European traders and the Haida, who quickly realized the potential to amass considerable wealth to enhance their status within the Nation. Being experienced traders, the Haida did well in initial trading which brought wealth almost overnight and sparked a new surge in cultural traditions. Clan chiefs spent their new found wealth commissioning longhouses, raising totem poles and potlatching. While the fur trade was primarily peaceful, traders sometimes complained of the shrewd trading tactics of the Haida chiefs, however, and occasionally violence broke out (MacDonald 1989, 20–21).25 Overhunting soon led to the extinction of the sea otter from the waters around the islands, and trade changed to cultural objects and furs of lesser value. White traders

24

Captain George Dixon (1748–1795), a British explorer and fur trader, who surveyed the islands, named them Queen Charlotte Islands after his ship, the Queen Charlotte, which was named after Sophie Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz (1744–1818), queen to King George III of England (1738–1820). 25 In 1789, hostility grew between the Kunghit Haida and the White traders, and culminated in the notorious battle between Chief Koya of SGang Gwaay and Captain Kendrick of the Lady Washington in 1791, (Howay 1941; see also Howay 1920, 1925, an incident which was immortalized in the sea shanty Bold Northwestman (Howay 1929, 115–116).

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would no longer visit the islands as often as before, creating a sudden scarcity of European goods, and the Haida had to travel to the new Hudson’s Bay Company post at Fort Simpson on the mainland. The opening of the post also altered the pattern of warfare in the region. The Coast Tsimshian, a long-time target of Haida raids, were secure under the guns of the fort, as the interests of the Hudson’s Bay Company, as well as those of the Russian American Company at Sitka, were in commerce, not warfare. Thus, warfare waned, and potlatching – “fighting with property” – developed as a substitute (MacDonald 1989, 21). Cross cultural trade did not only bring European goods and the ability for a rapid rise in social standing. European diseases like tuberculosis and smallpox, never before encountered on the coast, were transferred to the Haida who, with no inherited immunity, rapidly succumbed to the diseases. The first of a series of smallpox epidemics came to the Northwest Coast in the 1830s, affecting every village. Within a few decades the Haida were decimated with the loss of entire villages, and about half the Haida had died by the end of the decade (Interview with Wilson 2011; Boyd 1994). During that time, trade among the Haida was monopolized by fewer and fewer chiefs. Rapid population decline through disease, especially the smallpox epidemic of 1862–63, and growing reliance on trade led the Haida to abandon their more remote villages. The major chiefs were, thus, forced to accept the paramountcy of Chief Skidegate in the south and Chief Wiah at Masset in the north (MacDonald 1989, 21). Having been described first by Robert Haswell in the log of the Lady Washington in June 1789,26 the village of SGang Gwaay was affected, like many other villages, by a series of epidemics between 1863 and 1873, which proved fatal to many of the villagers.27 By 1875, it was only used as a camp by a group of about 25 Haida who still took up winter quarters there before leaving for summer hunting and fishing expeditions; by 1880, it was completely deserted (MacDonald 1983, 47). The move of the people to other villages, however, proved to be a difficult and lengthy one and had to follow strict protocols, as Wilson describes in her account of the move (see Box 5.1).

26

According to Acheson (2005, 307), the earliest historical reference to SGang Gwaay appears in the Hudson’s Bay Company census of 1835–41, reporting a population of 308 living in twenty houses. 27 In 1863, a smallpox epidemic reached the village; in December of that year, Francis Poole, who was mining at Skincuttle Inlet, noted: “At New Aberdeen we had compassionately taken a European on board as a passenger via Queen Charlotte to Victoria. As ill luck would have it what should he do but fall sick of small-pox, some days before we arrived at the copper-mines. I entered a vehement protest against his being put on shore, knowing only too well the certain consequences. The little skipper insisted, however, and then weighed anchor without him. We whites, it is true, were not attacked (by smallpox); but scarce had the sick man landed when the Indians again caught it; and in a very short space of time some of our best friends of the Ninstence or Cape St. James tribe [. . .] had disappeared forever” (Poole 1872, 194–195).

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Box 5.1: Barbara Wilson, “How the Haida Moved from SGang Gwaay to Skidegate” Let’s just look at SGang Gwaay. There were 30 people left there, and they came from this area here, south, they all moved here, probably before the 1700s, because there is a story that tells me that smallpox came from up there the first time, before Europeans came to our islands, by way of Russia and Alaska. These people that ended up at SGang Gwaay left and moved down here, because this was part of their territory. In 1886, when smallpox had completely decimated the islands, Skidegate – who was chief up here – sent some of his men down to SGang Gwaay and asked them to come and live at his village. But because they were sworn enemies, they didn’t move there right away. They moved from SGang Gwaay up north, probably to Tanu, for a while, because they had family relationships there. Then they moved to Cumshewa and were there for a while. They may have stayed for a while at New Kloo, on Church Creek – that’s Hal kun, in our old stories we talk about this place. Then they came to Haina and eventually moved to Skidegate. That was a long process, because they were sworn enemies, and they had to give up their power. A chief couldn’t come into somebody else’s village just as you’re coming to the islands. It would have to be a negotiated move; it would have to be agreed upon protocol. Things were given up, places were decided where you would live. You couldn’t just say, oh, I’m going to move to Skidegate and move in. It was not your place; it was not your territory. There would be a lot of negotiations before you ever moved into somebody else’s village. My father was the chief of the family [. . .]. He said to me that there is a word that you use when you agree to live under somebody else’s rule, and with it you cannot even call yourself ’laana awGa, which means that you are the head chief of your village. You could only use kilslaay, which is a term of honour. The only person that can use ’laana awGa is the person whose village you are in. It’s a very strict protocol (Interview with Wilson 2011). With the decline of trade, missionaries started filling the void, eager to convert a Nation that did not fit European preconceptions. Many Haida embraced Christianity, as they hoped for being saved from perishing, as Wilson explains: Our people probably thought they were all dying out. If you go from 30,000 to 600, it doesn’t look very good. And here at Skidegate the Europeans had come, and they had a church there, and the ministers were telling them if you take our religion we will save you. If you are Haida and you have an oral history and somebody says they will save you, you take them at their word, and if you don’t understand the connotation of saving somebody’s soul as opposed to saving the person it’s very difficult (Interview with Wilson 2011)

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As the islands were Christianized in the 1870s and 1880s,28 many cultural works such as totem poles were destroyed or taken to museums around the world. Missionaries regarded the carved poles as graven images rather than representations of the family histories that wove Haida society together. In addition, the potlatch was outlawed under the potlatch ban in 1885, seriously interrupting the social relationships and cultural heritage of the people. The complex system of potlatch rules and indication that the First Nations possessed an organised legal and political system was misunderstood and feared for being ‘other’ and preventing the Indigenous peoples from assimilating into White Canadian society. Alongside this, communal dwellings were abandoned in favour for European-style houses, and canoe production virtually ceased after introduction of gasoline powered boats. By the turn of the century, the Haida were forced to “adopt the ways of the white man” (MacDonald 1989, 37). While most Haida children were sent to residential school on the main land,29 many attended an Indian Day School in Masset, which was seen as “useless” by Indian agents (Deasy 1911), as children were still influenced by their parents’ culture. Outside pressures from missionaries, an instituted colonial government and the death of hundreds of people eventually forced the abandonment of almost all traditional villages, and the remaining members settled at the centralized two villages of Old Massett and Skidegate. Their numbers continued to drop dramatically, and by 1911, only 589 Haida people remained in these two communities, which were designated as Indian reserves in 1938.

5.2.3

From Colonialism to Reclaiming Their Land: Into the Twenty-First Century

Colonial settlement in Haida Gwaii began in the early 1900s. Settlers and missionaries arrived on the islands hard on the heels of the Hudson’s Bay Company traders. In 1851, British Columbia’s first gold rush took place at Gold Harbour, but the deposits were shallow and the rush was short-lived. The establishment of the Colony of British Columbia in 1858 paved the way for industry such as mining, logging, fishing and whaling, and the processing of resources began in saw mills, salteries, canneries and at the Rose Harbour whaling station. When Europeans first started coming, they were given land for the promise of pioneering the land, and prospectors and loggers began swarming the islands. In 1891, therefore, a Crown Grant of With the arrival of the first missionary, William H. Collison (1847–1922), in 1873, a process began which saw all traditional houses and poles disappear within a short time. While in Masset, the missionaries demanded that poles be torn down and destroyed; in Skidegate the poles were left to decay (MacDonald 1989, 37). 29 Haida children were sent to St. Michael’s Indian Residential School (open 1929–1975) in Alert Bay, Alberni Indian Residential School (open 1891–1973) in Port Alberni on Vancouver Island, Coqualeetza Residential School (open 1894–1940) east of Vancouver, and Edmonton Residential School (open 1924–1966), in the province of Alberta (SD50 2012, 4; Siebert 2017; Smith 2013). 28

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703 acres of choice waterfront property was deeded to James Shield, Thomas Gore and James MacKenzie and their town plan for Queen Charlotte City was registered in 1908. Others followed and by 1914 eight townships had been surveyed, including Masset and Port Clemens. With the Haida Nation in a state of oppression through various methods of forced assimilation, the islands were at the mercy of a newly formed Canadian government, acquiring lands and populating them with immigrants to prevent a feared U.S. expansion into this ‘unpopulated’ territory. For the Haida there was little space in the colonizers’ imaginative geography of future settlement and resource extraction on the islands. This was also legitimized by George M. Dawson’s past-oriented and nostalgic ethnographic study of the archipelago’s Indigenous Haida population. Employed by the Geological Survey of Canada, the geologist spent the summer of 1878 surveying the entire periphery of the islands, making both geological and ethnographic observations. In his 1880 report, he depicted the Haida as another example of North America’s ‘vanishing Indian’, which served to position an ‘authentic’ Haida society in a rapidly-vanishing past from which they could stake few viable claims to the highly-desired resource landscapes of the islands (GrekMartin 2017).30 After the First World War, returning veterans and agrarian immigrants were encouraged to settle on the islands. They were given large land grants with hopes they would develop an agricultural base, but the distance from markets, a poor world-wide economic situation and lack of quality lands doomed their agricultural ventures. Settlers who took up fishing had better prospects. Due to the islands proximity to the nutrient richness of the continental shelf, a lucrative local industry developed, including many canneries and processing plants. With their maritime background, many Haida were able to adapt to this new economy and began profitable ventures in boat building and fishing. The readily accessible monumental stands of Western Red Cedar and Sitka Spruce provided another catalyst for European settlement to the area. During WWII, the tight grained, shatter resistant Sitka Spruce was of particular importance for airplane manufacturing, and logging increased significantly to support the war effort. Communities like Sandspit, Queen Charlotte City and Port Clements developed to meet the world’s demand for wood and thrived, attracting families and establishing services. For many decades, the Haida endured life as it was conditioned on them. Ceremonies and the carving of poles went underground, until the potlatch ban was lifted in 1951 and Indigenous people received the right to vote in 1960. Wilson describes this time as follows:

30

Discussing practices inherent to making settler space in late nineteenth century British Columbia, Grek-Martin (2017) claims that the ethnographic appendix of Dawson’s report articulated a colonial narrative of Haida decline that justified their virtual erasure from the descriptive and cartographic depictions of the islands’ future resource landscapes set out in the main body of the report; see also Winslow-Spragge (1993).

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Up to 1951 there was no choice (whether to send your child to residential school or not), you couldn’t go to university, you couldn’t vote, you couldn’t have a potlatch. And if you wanted to go to war, or you wanted to vote, or to drink, or own land, you had to give up your status. And if you gave up your status, it meant you couldn’t eat your food, you couldn’t be buried in your village, and you couldn’t go and live with your family. It was a no way situation (Interview with Wilson 2011).

Recently, there has been a strong push for reclaiming ownership and management rights by the Haida of their traditional territory. The shift began in the early 1970s with a focus on stopping the logging of old growth forests on south Moresby Island. At that time, forest practices such as clearcutting on steep slopes, resulting in landslides, and substantial loss of fish and wildlife habitat were not curtailed by the government. Concern was growing over the impacts of these industries on culturally and ecologically important areas and species, resulting in awareness campaigns and litigation to protect the Gwaii Haanas area. Building on earlier efforts by Haida community members to protect southern Haida Gwaii, the Skidegate Band Council formally established the Haida Gwaii Watchmen Program in 1981. Four years later, the Haida Nation led the Athlii Gwaii blockade on Lyell Island, drawing international attention to the clear cutting of the island, which eventually resulted in the protection and cooperative management of Gwaii Haanas. The 1970s also marked the beginnings of Haida cultural awareness, after the raising of new poles in Old Massett. Resurgent interest in Haida language, art and traditions began to take root in the communities, while the old taboos around expressing cultural interest waned. For the Haida, this fight for their land also served identity building after a long period of cultural oppression through residential school. Despite such devastations as diseases, displacement, the anti-potlatch law and residential schools, the Haida and their culture and language have survived resiliently. Today the majority of the islands’ population is settled in the communities of Daajing Giids, Skidegate, Masset, Old Masset, Port Clements, Sandspit and Tlell. Old Masset and Skidegate are Haida villages on former reserve land, while the others are non-reserve, settler communities. The Haida population has rebounded to 6000; about 2500 of them live on Haida Gwaii, mainly in Skidegate and Old Masset (see Fig. 5.4).31 Both villages are determined to develop their economic position, despite the difficulties. The average total income for the islands, for example, is between 19,800 and 32,700 CAD, compared to 37,000 CAD in the province, and the unemployment rate is about 43 percent in Masset and 29 percent in Skidegate, compared to 31 percent in the province (Statistics Canada 2017d, e, f, g, h, i, j). Politically, the Haida are strong and visible in the province. Both villages are run by elected village or band councils32 that operate on five-year funding agreements with Indigenous Services Canada. Furthermore, the Council of the Haida Nation

31 Today, there are about 560 Haida living in Old Masset and 840 in Skidegate (Statistics Canada 2017d, i). 32 Old Massett Village Council (OMVC, https://oldmassetvollagecouncil.com) and Skidegate Band Council (SBC, http://www.skidegate.ca) are elected and perform the function of a village government in their communities. They are mandated to enact legal policies and programs in such areas as

5.2

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259

Fig. 5.4 Skidegate, Haida Gwaii. (Photo by Susemihl)

(CHN) has become the Nation’s government, enacting legislation and policy affecting many aspects of life on Haida Gwaii. It was formed in 1974 with a vision to organize Haida people into one political entity. Part of the vision was a clear mandate to settle land claims, as Wilson remembers: “Our people collectively said we have been at this for a hundred years, trying to settle who owns the land; we want somebody, an umbrella group, to settle our land issue. So the people of the Haida Nation decided that we are going to elect people to go ahead and secure our land for us” (Interview with Wilson 2011). Over the past forty years, the CHN has been addressing the land question and has negotiated and signed agreements with other Coastal First Nations, Non-Governmental Organizations and local communities, and continues to work on agreements with both the federal and provincial governments. The elected CHN has also an obligation to bring everything to the Hereditary Leaders, whose council is made up of the Hereditary Chiefs of Haida Gwaii and who provide the CHN with guidance and advice on important matters to protect the Nation’s culture (Council of the Haida Nation homepage, Council of the Haida Nation, https://www.haidanation.ca; Interview with Guujaaw 2011). The Haida also govern themselves through the Constitution of the Haida Nation, adopted in 2003, encompassing Haida values in decision making. This document mandates the CHN to settle the issue of Title and Rights and ensures that the Haida relationship with land continues in perpetuity. The legislative body of the Haida government is the House of Assembly, which passes laws consistent with the

capital, education, health and social development, take actions to establish cultural programs, and to undertake initiatives in economic development.

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Constitution of the Haida Nation. Furthermore, every issue that needs to be acted upon and that will have implications for the whole of the Haida Nation has to go to referendum. Having signed a number of agreements and protocols with the national and regional governments, the Haida Nation today collectively holds Hereditary and Aboriginal Title and Rights to Haida territories and cultural and intellectual property. Moreover, in 2010 the former name Queen Charlotte Islands was returned to the province of British Columbia in a “Giving Back the Name with Respect”-ceremony33 and the name Haida Gwaii was restored. In 2022, a dozen place names have been restored in partnership with the BC Geographical Names Board, and the village known as Queen Charlotte from 1908 was officially recognized as the Village of Daajing Giids, restoring its ancestral Haida name. Since the 1970s, the Haida – with strong support from non-Haida residents and environmental organizations – have come a long way. Although the economy of the islands has been based on the forest industry and commercial fisheries since the 1930s, declining fish stocks and forest resources are precipitating new approaches to making a living on Haida Gwaii. The shift from a resource extraction economy to a tourism-focused economy, however, has been slow and far from complete. Besides tourism, secondary wood manufacturing and arts and crafts are some examples of growing economic trends. Worldwide, the Haida have been leading in collaborative management of protected areas, and at Gwaii Haanas steps are being taken to protect and promote the natural and cultural world of the people.

5.3

Collaboration and Control: A Model for Cooperative Management

For more than twenty years, Gwaii Haanas has been a leading example of a co-operatively managed, nationally protected heritage area in Canada. Together, the Haida Nation and the Government of Canada manage Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve, National Marine Conservation Area Reserve, and Haida Heritage Site through the Archipelago Management Board (AMB). Theoretically, cooperative management is “an ideal way to meet the differing needs of multiple parties with a common goal” (UNESCO 2012). In Gwaii Haanas this has become the reality. Although the Haida were not directly involved in the designation process of SGang Gwaay as a World Heritage site, their struggle for control over the land resulted in a comprehensive agreement with the national government that had fundamental impact on their management position of the site. For the Haida, cooperative management means participation in decision making and empowerment, involving advantages and

33 On June 3, 2010, the provincial government passed Bill 18, the Haida Gwaii Reconciliation Act, which legally restored the name Haida Gwaii to the Queen Charlotte Island. The documentary Giving Back the Name with Respect (2017, dir. Gwaliga Hart, 23 min.) celebrates this milestone of Haida history (Richard 2017).

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challenges. While protecting the south Moresby region is a shared priority agreed on by both partners, there are still disagreements over title and sovereignty. And although the collaborative, power-sharing relationship between the Haida Nation and the Government of Canada has been successful in managing Gwaii Haanas, the partnership is ongoing and evolving and there is always room for progress and improvement (Elliott 2017, 17; Hawkes 1996; Takeda 2015; Thomlinson and Crouch 2012), as an overview of the co-management agreements illustrate.

5.3.1

Agreements and Protocols: The Road to Cooperative Management

The road to cooperative management regardless of unresolved issues of land ownership has been rugged, yet rewarding for both sides. Today, management has been powerfully connected to the political struggles of the Haida people. It took many years of disagreement expressed in continuous negotiations between the Haida and the Government of Canada, though. When in 1974 disputes began over the future of southern Moresby Island, unsustainable logging plans led to a public proposal to protect the South Moresby Wilderness Area. Despite protests, logging also started on Lyell Island only a year later. In 1985, therefore, in a move to protect the area from logging and other resource extraction, the Haida Nation set up a road blockade on Lyell Island. Haida protesters were arrested, and the CHN formally declared the land and sea of Gwaii Haanas as a Haida Heritage Site. This conflict initiated a turning point in the relationship between the Haida Nation, the provincial and federal governments and local communities with respect to governance of Haida Gwaii. Nevertheless, logging continued in the face of legal and political controversy until 1987, when Canada and British Columbia subsequently committed to protect Gwaii Haanas through the designation of a national park reserve and a marine protected area in the South Moresby Memorandum of Understanding (1987). One year later, the South Moresby Agreement was signed, paving the way to Canada’s designation of the area as Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve (The Haida Nation 2010, 4–8). The process of negotiation reached a peak in 1993, when the Council of the Haida Nation and the Government of Canada signed a landmark cooperative management agreement, the Gwaii Haanas Agreement (GC/CHN 1993). In this ground-breaking document, the two parties agreed on the need to protect the region’s natural, cultural and marine treasures, but recognized their differing views on ownership of the area. The opening paragraph of the agreement states that the parties agree to disagree on who owns the lands and waters and that regardless they consent to work together to protect them. The first of its kind and accomplished without compromising Haida rights and title, this joint agreement expresses respect for Haida and Canadian interests and designations and includes a mutual commitment to protect Gwaii Haanas. This agreement also resulted in the creation of the Gwaii Haanas Archipelago Management Board (AMB) as the governing body which develops policies and

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makes all decisions regarding Gwaii Haanas. Initially comprised of two representatives of Parks Canada sitting for the Government of Canada and two representatives of the Council of the Haida Nation, the AMB strives to reach consensus on all issues. In the event of a disagreement, the matter may be referred to senior representatives who must attempt to reach agreement in good faith (AMB 2018, 14). Key principles that guide the AMB’s decision-making embrace heritage integrity, understanding human-land relationships, spiritual values, productive partnerships, continued learning, facility development, commercial harvesting restrictions, appropriate marketing and cooperative management and consensus. The Management Plan for the Terrestrial Area (2003) states: The successful management of Gwaii Haanas is the responsibility of this generation to future generations. Fulfilling the Gwaii Haanas vision and adhering to the guiding principles will require commitment, dedication and cooperation. The cooperative management arrangement between the Governments of the Haida Nation and Canada can serve as a model of how two parties with different views can work together to protect special areas of the world (AMB 2003, 9).

The body of cooperative management was enlarged in 2010, when the Gwaii Haanas National Marine Conservation Area Reserve was established and the Gwaii Haanas Marine Agreement signed by the CHN and the Canadian government, thereby protecting the waters surrounding Gwaii Haanas and putting in place a cooperative management partnership to protect and conserve the marine ecosystem of the proposed national marine conservation area reserve and confirming its boundaries. The parties agreed that “the Gwaii Haanas Marine Area shall be regarded with the highest degree of respect and will be managed in an ecologically sustainable manner that meets the needs of present and future generations, without compromising the structure and function of the ecosystems” (PC/CHN 2010). This agreement expanded the AMB’s role to include planning, operation and management of the Gwaii Haanas marine area and increased the board’s membership from four to six. As of 2011, the AMB consists of three representatives of the CHN and three representatives of the Government of Canada (a representative of Fisheries and Oceans Canada (DFO) was added).34 Focussing its attention on minimizing the impacts of people on the environment, the AMB examines all initiatives and undertakings relating to the planning, management and operation of Gwaii Haanas. Central to the vision for Gwaii Haanas is the recognition that land, sea and people are interconnected, and thus an Interim Marine Management Plan (2010) set strategic directions for the management and operation and outlined a vision for the future of Gwaii Haanas. The designation of Gwaii Haanas as a protected area under Haida and Canadian law represents a rare achievement – the cooperative management of land and sea, from alpine to deep ocean regions. Thus, twenty-five years after the Gwaii Haanas

34

In 2020, the Archipelago Management Board was made up of Cindy Boyko (CHN), Barb Williams (CHN), Alfred Setso (CHN), Colin Masson (DFO), Tyler Peet (Parks Canada), and Ernie Gladstone (Superintendent, Gwaii Haanas, Parks Canada, who is also a member of the Haida Nation) (PC 2020a).

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Agreement was signed, the continued commitment by the Haida Nation and Canada to work together still serves as “a model for the world” (AMB 2018, 10), demonstrating how parties with differing viewpoints on sovereignty, title and land ownership can reach consensus. UNESCO (2012) notes that SGang Gwaay, proposed by Canada as best practice in World Heritage Management, “is interesting as a case study” for a number of aspects such as innovative management practices, the active commitment of local people, mandatory training for staff, and for awareness raising and understanding the site thanks to innovative media strategies. Many organizations, governments and First Nations have, therefore, visited Gwaii Haanas to learn from this experience, and the park has been evolving ever since.

5.3.2

“Everything Depends on Everything Else”: The Gwaii Haanas Land-Sea-People Plan

Central to the vision for Gwaii Haanas is the recognition that land, sea and people are interconnected, as the Haida “have always known that gina ‘waadluxan gud ad kwaagid – everything depends on everything else” (AMB 2018, 7). An integrated management of the land, sea and people considers the relationships between species and habitats and accounts for short-term, long-term and cumulative effects of human activities on the environment. Thus, in 2018, the Gwaii Haanas Gina ‘Waadluxan KilGulhGa Land-Sea-People Plan (LSP Plan) went into effect. The “first of its kind in Canada, if not the world” (PC 2018a), this management plan sets direction for the AMB to manage Gwaii Haanas from mountaintop to seafloor as a single, interconnected ecosystem. With respect to ‘Gina ‘Waadluxan KilGuhlGa – “talking about everything” – the plan outlines a shared vision for the future, includes guiding principles based on Haida cultural values, describes the AMB’s goals, objectives and measurable targets for the next ten years, and provides a zoning plan for the land and sea, driven by key ecological and cultural targets. While the marine region includes zoning for commercial and recreational fishing as well as no-take zones, terrestrially there is no commercial harvesting of any sort allowed and human impact is carefully monitored and managed. Culturally sensitive areas are either closed to visitors or have Haida Watchmen present. The guiding principles (see Table 5.1) are based on Table 5.1 Haida guiding principles and ecosystem-based management principles Yahguudang – Respect ’Laa guu ga kanhllns – Responsibility Gina ’waadluxan gud ad kwaagid – Interconnectedness Giid tlljuus – Balance Gina k’aadang.nga gii uu tll k’anguudang – Seeking Wise Counsel Isda ad dii gii isda – Giving and Receiving

Precautionary approach Inclusive and participatory Integrated management Sustainable use Adaptive management Equitable sharing

Source: AMB (2018), Gwaii Haanas Gina ‘Waadluxan KilGuhlGa Land-Sea-People Management Plan, 7

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ethics and values from Haida law. Adapted to support planning on Haida Gwaii and modified for the Gwaii Haanas context, they align with principles of ecosystembased management described in scientific, planning and management literature. These guiding principles acknowledge respect for all living beings, human responsibility for the land and sea, and the necessity to protect natural and cultural heritage for future generations, the sustainable management and use of resources, the application of traditional Haida knowledge and scientific knowledge within management, and reciprocity as a concept of all relationships. More elaborately, the guiding principles read as follows: Yahguudang – Respect: We respect each other and all living things. We take only what we need, we give thanks, and we acknowledge those who behave accordingly. ’Laa guu ga kanhllns – Responsibility: We accept the responsibility to manage and care for the land and sea together. We work with others to ensure that the natural and cultural heritage of Gwaii Haanas is passed on to future generations. Gina ’waadluxan gud ad kwaagid – Interconnectedness: Everything depends on everything else. Healthy ecosystems sustain culture, communities and an abundant diversity of life, for generations to come. Giid tlljuus – Balance: The world is as sharp as the edge of a knife. Balance is needed in our interactions with the natural world. Care must be taken to avoid reaching a point of no return and to restore balance where it has been lost. All practices in Gwaii Haanas must be sustainable. Gina k’aadang.nga gii uu tll k’anguudang – Seeking Wise Counsel: Haida Elders teach about traditional ways and how to work in harmony with the natural world. Like the forests, the roots of all people are intertwined. Together we consider new ideas, traditional knowledge and scientific information that allow us to respond to change in keeping with culture, values and laws. Isda ad dii gii isda – Giving and Receiving: Reciprocity is an essential practice for interactions with each other and the natural and spiritual worlds. We continually give thanks for the gifts that we receive (AMB 2018, 7).

These guiding principles pervade all Haida teachings. Respect and responsibility for the environment and interconnectedness and balance have been expressed in Haida culture, as for example in Haida art and literature. The principle that everything has to be treated with respect has been inherent in the Haida way of life, according to Wilson: One of the things we had was a way of making things right, and everything had to be balanced all the time. Our stories tell us that if we were disrespectful or treat people or things badly, they would go away and we don’t get them anymore. [. . .] I teach the young people, and I talk to them about respect and fairness and those things that was part of our ancestors’ life, because quite a few of the stories I read talk about what happens if you are disrespectful. So kids [. . .] were brought up on these stories, and you learn very quickly that you don’t mistreat things, you don’t take more than you need, you don’t withhold from somebody else, because you never know when you are going to need help (Interview with Wilson 2011).

In the spirit of the agreement, both Western science and Haida traditional knowledge inform decision-making, with the intent to maintain and restore the rich cultural and ecological heritage of Gwaii Haanas “for the benefit, education and enjoyment of present and future generations” (AMB 2018, 6). Traditional knowledge data is,

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therefore, incorporated into all marine planning and decision-making processes.35 As laid out in the LSP Plan, management of Gwaii Haanas over the next decade is based upon a set of goals and objectives, outlining high-level direction and describing AMB priorities. Targets allow the AMB to measure and report on progress towards each objective. Annual work plans (including fisheries management plans) are developed, and seven main goals have been framed: (1) Implement effective collaboration for planning and management; (2) Protect, conserve and restore biodiversity and ecosystems; (3) Support the continuity of Haida culture; (4) Foster ecologically sustainable resource use that benefits Haida Gwaii communities; (5) Advance knowledge and understanding of Gwaii Haanas; (6) Enhance public awareness of and appreciation for Gwaii Haanas; and (7) Facilitate opportunities for meaningful visitor experiences. The goals related to the use of heritage will be discussed more in detail in the following sections.

5.3.3

Collaborations for Planning and Management

Implementing effective collaboration for planning and management constitutes the first major goal of the LSP Plan and the foundation for successfully achieving at all other goals. While a strong relationship between the Haida Nation and the Government of Canada is fundamental to the success of Gwaii Haanas, the AMB also works with other governments and organizations, including the Province of British Columbia, on broader management initiatives.36 To strengthen the different relationships, the plan aims to increase collaborative work with partner organizations, and seeks to implement a collaborative process for AMB decision-making concerning fisheries management. The AMB also leads major projects, such as pole raisings, that highlight the cooperative relationship between the Haida Nation and Canada. Improved compliance may also be achieved through education and outreach in collaboration with partners such as the Haida Gwaii Watchmen Program. Overall, AMB decisions are informed by the best available information including Haida traditional knowledge and laws, local knowledge and science. The AMB also solicits 35 In 2007, the CHN initiated the Haida Marine Traditional Knowledge Study to research and document Haida culture, traditions and knowledge about the ocean. Fifty-six Haida shared their knowledge of food, fishing and gathering areas, seasonal harvest patterns, sites of cultural importance and observations about species abundance and population trends. More than 4000 locations and 150 marine species were recorded, along with oral accounts and first-hand observations. The information was presented in the Ocean & Way of Life Map and brochure which includes 500 Haida names for waters, settlements and supernatural beings (CHN n.d.). 36 At the regional level, the AMB engages in processes such as Marine Protected Area Network planning and implementation of the Pacific North Coast Integrated Management Area Plan (AMB 2018, 14). Examples of other planning and management initiatives already underway in the area around Gwaii Haanas include the Haida Gwaii Marine Plan, developed under the British Columbia-First Nations Marine Planning Partnership (MaPP), and the Pacific North Coast Integrated Management Area (PNCIMA) Plan (AMB 2018, 11).

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advice from an advisory committee, local communities and others. To improve the coordination between the AMB and relevant initiatives and associated organizations, the AMB engages stakeholders in the implementation of this plan, participating in and coordinating with local and regional management and planning initiatives. Furthermore, programs for prevention, compliance and enforcement are coordinated among AMB partners and the province. The AMB’s experience of cooperative management, spanning more than two decades, provides an example of reconciliation in action that links to broader governance and reconciliation efforts on Haida Gwaii. Each of these processes involves government-to-government cooperative partnerships, with different parties exercising concurrent jurisdiction and authority depending on the scope of the initiative. This multi-layered management environment requires an extraordinary level of coordination (AMB 2018, 11–15). Another key aspect to Gwaii Haanas’ management and the continued building of trust has to do with the superintendent at Gwaii Haanas, Ernie Gladstone. He has a unique role in that he is Haida, a community member and working for Parks Canada. Gaagwiis Jason Alsop,37 president of the Council of the Haida Nation and former CHN representative on the AMB, states: “He really understands both worlds politically and organizationally. I think he’s been crucial; I don’t know if things would be as smooth if it wasn’t a Haida person like Ernie in that role” (Alsop, quoted in Sargeant 2015, 83–84). Beyond the AMB and its cooperative management, Gwaii Haanas benefits from significant numbers of Haida people who dedicate their careers to protecting, presenting and managing Gwaii Haanas and SGang Gwaay as Parks Canada staff. Through these opportunities, descendants of those that once inhabited the area are now protecting, educating and interpreting the history, culture and connection between the land, the sea and the people, ensuring the connection of people and place is a best practice that the AMB can share with other sites that are seeking to involve First Nations. Consequently, the Haida are directly involved in the protection of their heritage; they are working in programs to guard the flora, fauna and cultural heritage, thus gaining cultural and spiritual awareness and passing on their traditional knowledge to Indigenous and non-Indigenous people (Interview with Dionne 2011). In this respect, Gwaii Haanas is also a source of economic benefit for the Haida and the wider communities on the islands. Nevertheless, employment remains a contentious issue in AMB meetings. Due to a 50-percent commitment of Parks Canada (one of the major employers on the islands), more than 40 employees of the team at Gwaii Haanas are Haida staff, which is in keeping with both the Gwaii Haanas Agreement and Gwaii Haanas Marine Agreement, and roughly two million dollars in salaries flow into the Indigenous community annually (Interview with Gladstone 2011). The CHN, though, would like to eventually see 100 percent Haida employment in the area. The Haida Gwaii Watchmen program, funded by Parks Canada, provides an additional opportunity for those of Haida ancestry to get

37

Alsop was elected president of the Haida Nation in 2018.

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Collaboration and Control: A Model for Cooperative Management

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involved, employing approximately 30 Haida every year. Moreover, there are Haida tour operators who benefit by offering tours to the protected area. Although there have been many notable successes, cooperative management of Gwaii Haanas has not been without challenges. Conflicts arose especially over the use of resources and development. In 2014 and 2015, for example, there was conflict over the commercial herring fishery in Gwaii Haanas, which involved court action and strained the relationship between the Haida Nation and Canada. The LSP states: The recovery of herring and many other species in Gwaii Haanas is influenced by some factors beyond the control of the AMB such as climate change. Rising sea levels, changing ocean conditions and warming temperatures will affect productivity, food web dynamics and species’ ability to respond to change on land and in the sea. Coastal erosion has already impacted sensitive archaeological sites throughout Gwaii Haanas. Human activities, including traditionally based use, commercial fisheries, tourism and vessel traffic, may be affected by these changes. The AMB is committed to mitigating and adapting to the effects of climate change in Gwaii Haanas (AMB 2018, 12).

Concerning finances, Gwaii Haanas is predominantly funded by Parks Canada. When SGang Gwaii was first proposed as a World Heritage site, though, the province provided the money. Since public funding has been decreasing over the years, though, the conservation of the poles at SGang Gwaay has become rather difficult, as Parks Canada has little means to bring maintenance personnel to the remote site. While in the 1980s Parks Canada had a budget of about 30,000 dollars for the maintenance of the poles at SGang Gwaay, in 2010 it was 10,000 dollars (Interview with Wilson 2011).38 In order to reduce reliance on public funds, however, the AMB adopted a “creative approach” to finance programs and services through user-pay programs, corporate sponsorship, endowment funds and commercial publications (Interview with Gladstone 2011). Additionally, as part of the South Moresby Agreement, a Community Development Fund was established to stimulate the economy and “enhance understanding between the communities and cultures of the islands through the process of joint community economic planning and development.”39 In 1994 the Gwaii Trust Society (GTS) was formed to operate the fund, subsidizing educational, cultural and social programs and handing out grants and travel assistance to Indigenous and non-Indigenous community members. A large portion of the interest earned from investment of the trust is disbursed to the people of Haida Gwaii through a variety of Gwaii Trust programs, such as youth and language programs. Furthermore, the Gwaii Forest Society was founded in 2007 to contribute to the long-term sustain-

In 1998, Parks Canada started to control the deer on SGang Gwaay, which turned out to be “a double faced sword,” as with the deer gone they now have to cut the trees and bushes and eliminate the young trees. At other sites such as Skedans and Tanu, there is land erosion and the big trees are topping over, because the understory that grows under the trees has been removed by deer (Interview with Wilson 2011). 39 Gwaii Trust Society, http://www.gwaiitrust.com 38

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ability of forest resources on Haida Gwaii and to support community stability through adjustment to changes in the forest economy (Dowie 2017, 158; Lusignan 2007, 2). On the political side, innovative decision making processes have been implemented. Shared decision-making processes are a result of the Haida Nation and BC signing the Kunst’aa guu – Kunst’aayah Reconciliation Protocol (2009). Since consultation with the First Nations has become a mandated legal necessity for the state, a ‘Solutions Table’ was established in 2011. It is a process which licensees, tenure holders and other developers go through to propose any development on Haida Gwaii. The Solutions Table examines applications for land-use alterations, logging, aquaculture and mining permits and recommends them to the provincial decision-makers and the CHN for sign off (CHN 2016). It is co-chaired by two representatives of the Haida Nation and two representatives of the Province of BC. Representative of the Haida Nation and stewardship manager Colin Richardson states: “The Haida own the house, and this is pretty neat stuff [. . .]. The Haida are now in the decision making room” (Interview with Richardson 2011). This government-to-government process replaced a process in which the provincial government made all decisions if the First Nations did not respond “in a timely manner.” Today, Haida knowledge is considered, and, according to Richardson: “When an application comes in, the Haida and the province people sit together and we dialogue on this application” (ibid.). Having been involved in Haida politics for years, it has been “a lifelong journey” to move his people forward: “We used to be warriors in the sense of war. [. . .] Now we’re political warrior, we’re more strategic. We figured out their game, and we get better at it than them,” he states (ibid.). Since the Haida have never signed any historical treaties, they have never given away title to their land, and even though there is disagreement as to ownership of the land, both governments decided to manage the natural and cultural resources in agreement. These accords give the Haida strength and influence, and they established a locally controlled, interest-bearing fund to advance economic diversification and sustainable development on their traditional territory. The co-management identifies existing problems and solves them through a series of actions, involving the Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities in the decisionmaking process. It also permits better living conditions, employment and education for the local Haida population. Gwaii Haanas represents a successful partnership between different types of institutions that have the same objective. And even when the Supreme Court decides about ownership of Haida Gwaii in the future, a co-management of Gwaii Haanas will most likely be considered as valuable and beneficial by both sides, as it brings together Indigenous traditional expertise and values with Western experience and know-how. Nevertheless, Haida Gwaii residents and the broader public need to have multiple opportunities to learn about Gwaii Haanas and its past and present uses, cooperative management and Haida law (AMB 2018, 25), and it is important to build and enhance awareness and appreciation for Gwaii Haanas, incorporating Haida language and oral traditions in Gwaii Haanas communications.

5.4 “Celebrating the Living Culture of the Haida”: Representation. . .

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“Celebrating the Living Culture of the Haida”: Representation and Repatriation at the Haida Heritage Centre and the Haida Gwaii Museum

The Haida Heritage Centre at Ḵay Llnagaay (see Fig. 5.5) is the public face and gateway to Gwaii Haanas and SGang Gwaay. Even before visitors reach the World Heritage site itself, they usually visit the centre. It is the seat of the administration of Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve, National Marine Conservation Area Reserve, and Haida Heritage Site, this is where visitors receive their pass to enter the protected area, and this is where the World Heritage site is represented and interpreted. Although located outside of Gwaii Haanas, visitors to the Haida Heritage Centre can sample the Haida culture through a variety of media, including static and interactive displays, live performances, educational programs and Haida art. The Centre is an important ‘storyteller’ of Haida history and culture, and thus an important source of empowerment and capacity building for the Haida people. As the Centre and the Museum are both owned and managed by the Haida community, their stories are told in their words, and the repatriation program that has been initiated in accordance with the museum has become a model for other Indigenous communities throughout Canada.

5.4.1

The Haida Heritage Centre at Ḵay Llnagaay

The Haida Heritage Centre at Ḵay Llnagaay is a gateway to Haida culture, history and tradition. It is a place where Haida and non-Haida alike gather to learn about and

Fig. 5.5 The Haida Heritage Centre and the Haida Gwaii Museum at Ḵay Llnagaay. (Photo by Susemihl)

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celebrate Haida art, culture, customs, traditions and history, as for example at the annual Ḵay Anniversary,40 a community event at which Haida share their living culture with visitors. Located at Kay Llnagaay or “Sea-Lion Town,” the Centre was designed41 to resemble the traditional ocean-side Haida village that once stood in its place. The view from the sheltered bay in Skidegate Inlet evokes a feeling of traditional Haida life. For many decades, the centre was a dream for the Haida. In 2007, it opened its doors as a gathering place for the Indigenous community, for Elders sharing their wisdom, for displaying and interpreting Haida history and developing Haida art, language and culture. It is a reflection of the proud legacy and history of the Haida people and a way to preserve and celebrate Haida past, enabling the people to share their history and culture, as stated in the mission statement: Through the Haida Heritage Centre we celebrate the living culture of the Haida. Through our language, art and stories we share our relationship with the land and sea that shapes, nourishes and sustains us. Ḵay Llnagaay protects and fosters Haida culture by reaffirming our traditions and beliefs, encouraging artistic expression, and serving as a keeper of all that we are. Ḵay Llnagaay is a place for the Haida voice to be heard. This is our gift to the world (Haida Heritage Centre, Mission Statement 2023).

The award-wining architectural masterpiece accommodates nine different buildings, among them five contemporary monumental longhouses made of cedar and connected by an atrium. The spacious entrance hall or “Shaking Hands House” (Stlaay Daw Naay) welcomes visitors with a copper shield and an open view onto the inlet. The “Performance House” (Gina Guu Aahljuu Naay), whose cedar-paneled walls seem to reflect warmth, songs and drumming, is a space for community gatherings and ceremonies. In the “Canoe House“ (Skaajang Naay) and the “Solitary Raven House” (Yaahl SGwaansing Naay) decorated paddles are stacked along the walls, reflecting travel, transportation, food and resource gathering, and trade by exploring the history and importance of canoes in Haida lives. The “Carving House” (Gyaa K’id Naay) is an open-walled building designed to house monumental poles, canoes and other work too large to fit in the enclosed carving shed for local artists to work on (see Fig. 5.6). The “Mortuary House” (Saahling.a Naay) contains bones that lay beneath the building and were removed when construction started. With an ever-changing display of local Haida artwork, the gift shop or “Trading House” (Gina DaahlGahl Naay) is well-stocked with exquisitely carved Haida argillite figures, wooden masks and other treasures, while the “Eating House” (Gaa Taa

40 In 2008, the Haida Heritage Centre hosted a grand opening event, and in 2018, it celebrated its 10th anniversary, featuring a clan march where members of each Haida clan arrived in their traditional button blankets, dancing apron and woven cedar hats, proudly displaying their crests while singing and drumming, and opening ceremonies. Activities throughout the day included a loonie auction, raffles, storytelling, a game of laahal (gambling sticks), a Haida language spelling competition, a toddler regalia review (ensuring participation of the younger generations), and a fish barbecue before wrapping up with dance performances and competitions. 41 The Centre was designed by the North Vancouver-based architects David Nairne and Associates Ltd.

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Fig. 5.6 Carving House at the Haida Heritage Centre. (Photo by Susemihl)

Naay) serves food and beverages. Additionally, space is rented to organizations and programs such as the Swan Bay Rediscovery Program, the Haida Gwaii Watchmen, the Northwest Community College and the Haida Gwaii Institute.42 The centre is owned and operated by the Skidegate Band Council and its management is overseen by Gwaalagaa Naay Corporation staff. The Haida hold jobs in the museum, the gift store and the cafeteria. Their arts and crafts are exhibited and they participate in educational programs. In partnership with local and provincial companies, the Nation is also constantly striving for sustainability and an environmentally friendly operation of the building, using solar panels to meet the energy needs of the centre.43 According to Billy Yovanovich, Chief Skidegate Band Councillor, this project serves as “a reminder that there are local solutions we can act on today to move toward a clean energy future” (quoted in Coast Funds 2017). This is one of many aspects that illustrate that the Centre is indeed a place that connects past and contemporary Haida ways of life, as has also been reflected in cultural and heritage activities, educational programs, meetings and exhibitions at the centre.

42 The Haida Gwaii Institute is a non-profit organization that provides university-level education through field courses in resource management and other subjects in cooperation with the University of British Columbia (https://hginstitute.ca). 43 As of 2017, the energy needs of the centre are met by a state-of-the-art solar system, generating up to 100 kilowatts of renewable electricity, which makes it BC’s Largest Community-Owned Solar Energy System. Elders named the project Jiigawaay Naay Unguu – “The Sun on Top of the House” (Coast Funds 2017).

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The Haida Gwaii Museum

The Centre is also home of the Haida Gwaii Museum – the “Saving Things House” or Xaayda Saahlinda Naay (see Figs. 5.7 and 5.8). With about 7000 visitors per year, it is important for communicating Haida history and traditions to visitors from Canada and around the world. The museum opened in 1976 and is committed to showcasing and preserving Haida historical and contemporary art, culture and language, promoting the rich diversity of the islands and “inspire understanding and respect for all that Haida Gwaii is” (Haida Gwaii Museum 2023. https:// haidagwaiimuseum.ca/). It is a community-driven institution. Taking its direction from the Haida Nation, it is governed by a non-profit organization with an elected board representing each of Haida Gwaii’s seven communities and appointed representatives from the Band Councils and North Coast Regional District. The museum has confirmed strong ties with the community by working in consultation with the Haida community, including Hereditary Chiefs, Elders, the Council of the Haida Nation, Skidegate and Old Massett language programs and the Haida Repatriation Committees. It has also established long-term partnerships with a number of agencies, including Gwaii Haanas and Parks Canada, the Haida Gwaii Institute, the Haida Heritage Centre and the Laskeek Bay Conservation Society. Funding is provided by the state, province and various organizations,44 and the staff who work in the archives

Figs. 5.7 and 5.8 The Haida Gwaii Museum at Ḵay Llnagaay, and Haida house frontal poles at the Haida Gwaii Museum. (Photos by Susemihl)

44

Financial assistance also comes from the British Columbia Arts Council, the Province of British Columbia and the Skeena Queen Charlotte Regional District. Other partners include the Canadian Heritage-Museum Assistance Program, Creative BC, the Coast Sustainability Trust, the Irving K. Barber Learning Centre, and the Northern Development Initiative Trust. Haida Gwaii Museum, “Partners”, http://haidagwaiimuseum.ca/partners/

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(as collection curators), in finance, in the gift shop and as interns is predominantly Haida. The museum serves the population of Haida Gwaii. It is both a regional and community museum where the rich and diverse stories of Haida Gwaii are kept and told for people of today and future generations, but also incorporates settler history and the natural history of the island. The museum plays an import role in preserving, collecting and presenting the rich and diverse collection of archeological artifacts, natural science, Haida knowledge and history, visual art, settler artifacts and an archive of rare documents, books and photographs to help establish Haida Gwaii as a unique environment of the Pacific Northwest. Its classification as a category ‘A’ museum provides opportunities to bring the work of professional artists on a regional, national and international scale to the isolated community. With the assistance of federal funds, it also allows for the purchase of nationally significant Haida objects and art. Partnering with local organizations and museums from around the world to create a unique place of exploration, the museum is a place of education and a space for reconciliation, using art as a means of facilitating creative dialogue that encourages a holistic and critical exploration of the diverse ways to understand Haida Gwaii. In that regard, executive director and curator Nika Collison, granddaughter of Haida master carver Bill Reid and member of the Ts’aahl clan, applies Haida values to contemporary museum practices, including the repatriation of collections and ancestral remains to their Indigenous communities (Rowley 2020). The museum features a number of permanent and temporary exhibitions. The underlying theme running through all permanent exhibitions is the complex link between the land, sea, human beings and supernatural beings. Every object, art work and archeological piece presents a narrative focusing on its aesthetics, construct, cultural use and history as derived from community-based research. The permanent galleries feature a collection of Haida art from the late 1700s to today, including the works of acclaimed Haida artists. The gallery “Ancient History of Haida Gwaii”, for example, includes some of Canada’s earliest known artifacts, such as 13,000-yearold stone tools, and brings together two ways of knowing about Haida Gwaii’s ancient past, presenting Haida oral histories and recent discoveries in geology and archaeology side by side. The exhibition “Contact and Conflict” tells the story of the Haida contact with European cultures, showing both the tragedies that followed for the Haida and the strategies they implemented for survival and success. In addition, three historic Haida house frontal poles were raised in the gallery in 2006 (see Fig. 5.8). Addressing Haida contemporary life and initiatives that contributed to Haida culture and society, the exhibition “Keeping Our Way of Life” includes exhibits on the Haida repatriation movement, the historic and contemporary role of the CHN, the Haida language program and traditional Haida social organization. An open storage area provides visitors with visual access to almost all of the museum’s collections of Haida artifacts. A permanent exhibition on the Haida language explores how Haida continues to be a living language, reporting on local language programs through recordings and photographs and offering an interactive option to learn Haida words and phrases. Haida Elders are represented in a photo exhibition,

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and “The Living Room” exhibition allows visitors to explore the knowledge of Haida Gwaii’s history, its land, sea, people and politics in a living room setting while browsing photo albums containing copies of archival images, listening to past CBC Radio programs or watching documentaries. Objects found throughout the living room were once part of Haida Gwaii households and have been donated by residents. In addition to its permanent galleries, spaces are designed to host temporary art exhibitions, featuring Haida artists and exhibitions developed by elementary and secondary students as part of their school curriculum. Throughout the museum, the Haida voice is heard and Haida narratives are presented. The explanations on the panels use a first-person interpretation, speaking of “we” and “our”. Special focus lies on the continuity of the Haida way of life, the constant use of the Haida language and the thinking in Haida terms. Another focus is on the repatriation of all things that are Haida and the process of reconciliation. During the last thirty years, the museum has worked closely with the Haida community to repatriate Haida human remains and cultural objects held in museums around the world, reconstructing the genealogies of the Haida clan system, and mentoring Haida members in arts and heritage-related careers. Using a combination of video clips, text and images, the permanent exhibition “Haida Repatriation” tells the story of how, since 1995, the Haida approached Canadian and U.S. museums with requests for the return of their ancestors’ skeletal remains and brought home the remains of hundreds of their ancestors, the development of partnerships with museums around the world, and how the movement has inspired an unprecedented number of gifts of Haida historic objects from individuals across Canada and the United States.

5.4.3

Bringing Haida Ancestors and Treasures Home: The Repatriation Process

The effort to repatriate ancestors and objects to Indigenous nations in Canada is a crucial component of reconciliation and an ongoing process. For the people, the things they made are not simply artifacts but the embodiment of their culture and way of life. To the Haida, a totem pole is a history book, a bentwood box holds worldly possessions and spiritual value, and a wooden spoon delivers soup and stories. When a halibut hook was returned to the Haida Gwaii Museum, an Elder recounted stories about swimming out to the halibut before there were canoes and he sang traditional songs of thanks to the halibut (Lederman 2017a; Krmpotich 2014). Repatriation initiatives are, thus aimed at strengthening and supporting the growth of Haida culture. The Haida’s journey of repatriation has been long and strenuous, however. The earliest repatriation effort of the Haida goes back to the 1970s, when monumental poles that once stood in the villages of Yan, Hiellen, T’aanuu (Tanu) and K’uuna (Skedans) were returned home. These poles had been cut down and taken from

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Haida Gwaii at the turn of the twentieth century, and eventually wound up in Victoria’s Royal British Columbia Museum. The museum returned the poles to the Haida as an act of good faith and a major contribution to the Haida Gwaii Museum. The earliest repatriation of ancestors’ remains occurred in the 1990s, when concerned community members began investigating rumours of unethical archaeological digs on Haida Gwaii in the 1970s and 1980s. In 1993, the remains of 44 individuals were confiscated from a private collector and returned to the Haida by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police through the efforts of the Haida Gwaii Museum and the Band Councils of Skidegate and Old Massett (MOA 2008, 21). A year later, the Haida Gwaii Museum began work with the Hereditary Leaders, consulting on repatriation, which they call Yahgudangang, meaning “to pay respect,” and on the re-burial process (ibid., 17; SRCC 2007). For the Haida, their ancestors are their relatives, as the Haida Repatriation Committee explains: Our ancestors are our relatives and we have a deep connection to them. [. . .] We believe that as long as the remains of our ancestors are stored in museums and other unnatural locations far from home, that the souls of these people are wandering and unhappy. Once they are returned to their homeland of Haida Gwaii and are laid to rest with honour, the souls can rest and our communities may heal a bit more (SRCC 2007).

Subsequently, in 1996, the Haida repatriation initiative was formalized when repatriation committees in Old Massett and Skidegate were formed that work together as the Haida Repatriation Committee (HRC).45 This group of volunteers have taken on the responsibility for bringing home the remains of Haida ancestors, grave materials and ancient Haida treasures from museums and collections around the world. Their tasks are to research and identify where Haida ancestors and cultural materials are located in Canada, the United States and Europe, to contact and negotiate with institutions for the return of remains and funerary materials, and to see that the remains of their ancestors are cared for with proper respect and brought home in safety for burial on Haida Gwaii.46 The process is slow and time-consuming. Once they have planned, fundraised and co-ordinated with all parties involved to undertake repatriation, a Haida delegation travels to the institution to bring the remains home to be buried in the Skidegate or Old Massett graveyard with traditional ceremonies. This event concludes with a feast in honour of the ancestors. Like many of the planning and fundraising activities, the burial and the feast are open to the public so that people can participate and learn about repatriation and the Haida way of life (SRCC 2007).47 45

The Haida Repatriation Committee has two branches, The Skidegate Repatriation & Cultural Committee (SRCC), located in Skidegate and administered through the Haida Gwaii Museum, and The Old Massett Repatriation & Cultural Committee (OMRCC), located in Old Massett and administered through the Haida Heritage Society. Both are working on behalf of their communities and together on behalf of the Haida Nation. 46 For a timeline and a case study of Haida repatriation, see MOA 2008, 17–22. 47 In 2011, when I arrived at Masset airport, a repatriated ancestor was brought home on the same flight. He was greeted by a group of Haida, dressed in button blankets and wearing cedar hats, singing and moaning.

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Today the remains of over 500 ancestors that had been exhumed and distributed to museums across the globe have returned home.48 Bringing the ancestors home requires the support and effort of all Haida communities. Repatriation, thus, becomes a strong process of cultural renewal and empowerment. For the re-burial the whole community is involved and engaged. The most important outcomes of repatriation are found at Haida Gwaii, as many people have begun to embrace traditions that, until repatriation, only a handful of people participated in. In this respect, school children and volunteers make button blankets and weave cedar bark mats to wrap the ancestors in, and artists teach apprentices how to make traditional bentwood burial boxes and paint Haida designs on them. Furthermore, the Haida language has been revived so that the ancestors can be spoken to and prayed for. Elders and cultural historians teach traditional songs, dances and rituals, and, after each ceremony, “one can see that healing is visible on the faces of the Haida community” (SRCC 2007). As repatriations can be expensive, fundraising is a major component of repatriation work. Indigenous people from all over Canada face financial challenges as they work to retrieve their belongings or consider doing so and ensure that the items are properly housed. The Haida estimate their efforts have cost more than one million dollars over the years (Lederman 2017a). To raise money, the Haida hold raffles and auctions, the SRCC offers dinners in the Skidegate Community Hall during the summer tourist season and seek funding and donations from agencies, organizations and individuals both on and off-island. Major supporters include the Skidegate and Old Massett Band Councils, Gwaii Trust, Haida Gwaii Museum, the Qay’llnagaay Heritage Centre Society and the Canadian Government. Repatriation is also a process of cultural meetings. One such meeting occurred when, in 2000, a Haida delegation traveled to the Canadian Museum of History in Gatinau, where they were joined by relatives and friends from the area to repatriate the remains of 148 Haida ancestors.49 When visiting the museum, the Haida viewed hundreds of pieces of the museum collection, which consists of over 1200 treasures attributed to the Haida, and paddled the Red Raven canoe (a replica of Bill Reid’s famous war canoe, Lootaas) down the Ottawa River: What was really amazing about the canoe ride was that as we were paddling, we saw a plume of smoke off in the distance, rising up from a small island. As we got closer, we saw teepees. We paddled towards the shore, and natives from different areas of eastern Canada were there. It was a cultural camp where First Nations could come together. The people that were there gathered at the shore, watching us as we paddled towards their camp. When we were

48

In 2003, for example, 150 bentwood boxes holding Haida remains were repatriated by Chicago’s Field Museum for burial on Haida Gwaii. 49 The ancestors originated from villages all over Haida Gwaii. The remains were taken from their final resting place, between 1897 and 1968, by anthropologists and other ‘collectors’ such as Charles F. Newcombe, T. Deasy, C. Harrison, H. I. Smith, W. Newcombe, G. Balfour, M. Barbeau and others. Approximately one-third of the ancestors were removed by George MacDonald from Gust Island, which is a burial island. MacDonald obtained permission from the Skidegate Band Council to remove these ancestors as a form of protection, because logging on the island was desecrating the graves, and, at that time, there was no legislation governing the desecration of burial sites due to development (SRCC 2007).

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close, we sang a Haida song from our canoe, pounding our paddles against the canoe gunnels as a drum and asked permission to come ashore. They sang and invited us ashore. We backed in, speeches were made and their leaders gave our Chiefs medicines and sang us a journey song. [. . .] Words cannot express these emotions that will carry with us forever (SRCC 2007).

These cultural meetings and exchanges show the importance of cultural communication, the determination associated with the project and are part of the process of reconciliation.50 In 2016, the HRC entered a second phase of repatriation, now attempting to retrieve their cultural objects and material from museums, both in Canada and abroad.51 Currently, the Haida are aware of more than 12,000 attributed Haida pieces in almost 200 institutions around the world (Lederman 2017a). One of the heritage items returned on loan is the Gidansda’s Moon and Mountain Goat Chest – to Haida carver Gwaai Edenshaw “one of those statue-of-David-type iconic pieces within our nation” (quoted in Lederman 2017a). The lineage of the chest spans back seven generations of Hereditary Leaders from the Gakyals KiiGuwaay clan of Skedans. It was carved before 1880 for a previous chief of Skedans, one of Guujaaw’s ancestors, and is adorned with intricate carvings representing the moon, a mountain and grizzly bears. According to Guujaaw, the chief intended it to be a grave box, but, “then he got an offer he couldn’t refuse” (Guujaaw, quoted in Lederman 2017a), and in 1901, Gidansta sold the chest to the collector Charles Newcombe, who in turn sold it to the American Museum of Natural History in New York.52 In 2017, after more than a century away, the chest was returned to Haida Gwaii in an innovative collaboration between the Haida Gwaii Museum and the American Museum of Natural History. Nika Collison, co-chair of the Haida Repatriation Committee, was able to broker an extraordinary loan, acclaimed as

50 Toronto filmmaker Kevin McMahon accompanied a Haida delegation on a repatriation trip to Chicago in 2003. His documentary film Stolen Spirits of Haida Gwaii (dir. Kevin McMahon, 2004, 74 min) reveals the repatriation process through the stories and experiences of the people who participated. 51 On National Aboriginal Day in 2016, at a media event at the Royal BC Museum, Premier Christy Clark, standing in front of Haida totem poles, demanded US museums return ancestral remains and sacred artifacts, causing some controversy. Nika Collison, who had worked with these museums for years, built relationships and collaborations, had not been informed about this. She recounts: “It hit me in my heart and it turned my stomach over and over. It was like an assault on the ancestors that were already dead” (Collison, in Lederman 2017a). 52 After 1880, collecting of Indigenous items reach a fever pitch in British Columbia, and the competition was particularly fierce between the American Museum of Natural History, the Smithsonian and the Field Museum. There were sales, but Indigenous people were also manipulated, swindled and robbed. Funerary items and human remains were stolen from graves, feeding anthropological, scientific and casual collectors’ curiosity about Indigenous people, believed to be at risk of extinction. Many items were sold by their owners, but often under dreadful circumstances. While not all Indigenous agency can be removed from these sales, the legitimacy of the transactions needs to be examined through a contextual lens, as “much of what was sold was done so under duress because of colonial law and social/economic marginalization” (Collison, quoted in Lederman 2017a).

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progressive model for cooperation between Indigenous communities and museums. She states: [. . .] we’ve worked together closely over the years to build a relationship based on mutual respect, understanding and trust; and to realize a number of mutually beneficial endeavors – an example being this collaborative loan, requiring our Haida Nation’s laws and the institutional policies of the AMNH together to find a way for the chest to come home, be brought back to the life it was meant to have, and provide such educational and cultural opportunities. This collaboration has stepped our relationship up to the next level, an even stronger relationship. We look forward to bringing some of our belongings home permanently in the future (Collison, in Walker 2017).

Before the chest was displayed at the Haida Gwaii Museum from 2017 to 2019, the pioneering agreement allowed its use in two potlatch ceremonies, which represents a creative collaboration between Indigenous source nations and museums. Collison remarks: “It was absolutely magical and transformative. The chest itself wasn’t only transformed from being in a basement for 100 years to being back in use; it was transformed into being everything it always was” (quoted in Lederman 2017a, b). The chest, thus, participated in a memorial potlatch honouring the late chief Gidansda, Percy Williams, and in an inauguration potlatch, marking Guujaaw transition to Gidansda, Hereditary Chief of Skedans, in which he gifted 25 large copper shields to Hereditary Leaders and other honoured guests. Before the chest travelled back to New York, the museum commissioned the two accomplished carvers Gwaai and Jaalen Edenshaw to recreate the chest and have the copy remain in the community. This repatriation project is among many that, according to Scott Marsden, director of the Haida Gwaii Museum, continue to strengthen community pride in Haida culture and heritage, provide the people with opportunities to observe and reflect on the legacies of historical and contemporary Haida art and support the strengthening of Haida culture and identity (Lederman 2017a). While in most cases, museums repatriate items as a result of a request, occasionally, an institution initiates a return. One such instance was an offer of the Museum of Vancouver, which has an enormous First Nations collection, including hundreds of Haida objects. Recently, it proposed to send back a mortuary pole to Haida Gwaii. The pole, immortalized by Emily Carr in a 1912 painting, was cut down in 1958, acquired by the museum in 1968 and has been in storage since then. The Haida considered the offer, but declined it, because they did not want this reparation “to be associated in any way with Canada 150” (Collison, quoted in Lederman 2017a).53 The offer is, however, a commitment to repatriate, as Haida artist Kwiaahwah Jones states: “The fact that they’re doing this is so big [. . .] They’re putting pressure on other institutions to make things right. It’s opening a door” (quoted Lederman 2017a).

In 2017, Canada celebrated its 150th anniversary, promoted as “Canada 150”, which was criticized by many Indigenous people for ignoring Indigenous history and downplaying the hardships faced by their people today. 53

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In that respect, repatriation is essentially a political process, which involves strong communicative skills. Yet, First Nations and museums have their own policies and visions. Museums, above all, see themselves as custodians of Indigenous artifacts, as curator of North American Ethnology at the American Museum of Natural History Peter Whiteley explains: “Our museum is home to one of the most important collections of 19th- and early 20th-century Northwest Coast art and material culture, which we hold in trust as a legacy for the First Nations themselves and for the understanding and appreciation of a very broad public” (quoted in Walker 2017). The above-mentioned loan represents a new kind of partnership between Indigenous source communities and museums. In the process, the Indigenous people face a number of challenges, one being the gaining of trust and participation of a museum. The Haida repatriation committee tries to overcome the obstacles by maintaining an open process, communicating with and understanding museums: “By being diplomatic, patient and persistent, we have found that our efforts to explain our culture and our history have been successful. We are able to show first-hand that our work is done to honour our ancestors and make a healthy community” (SRCC 2007). Involving museum staff in their work and ceremonies, where appropriate, is important, as it fosters relationships, according to the SRCC: By the end of each repatriation, the employees of the museum are always so thrilled to have been a part of the process and you can see they understand and are involved from their hearts. We have learned together, we understand our history better and we see the need for other people to understand our history and our current way of life. We have learned more about our traditions and we see the benefits of sharing in tradition with others (SRCC 2007).

The Skidegate and Old Massett committees have built up strength by working together, and by informing and educating the public about the processes and initiatives. To inspire understanding and respect for all that Haida Gwaii is, including its heritage, the museum works in consultation with the Haida communities, Hereditary Chiefs, Elders and the CHN as well as in cooperation with language programs and the Repatriation committees: Our journey has been long, but also rich in learning and healing. In the museum communities of North America many individuals have had their lives changed by what they have experienced through repatriation. We have come together in ways nobody could have predicted to make things right. And institutions also have changed the way they do things [. . .] We approach repatriation with mutual respect and understanding and are seeing new understandings based in respect for our past, and a more knowledgeable regard for our present as Haida people today (SRCC 2007).

The Haida will continue to seek the return of their cultural treasures and heirlooms. This will cause changes in the museum world, but also in heritage tourism, which has become an important source of empowerment and community development for the Haida Nation.

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“They Realize Who We Really Are”: Tourism and Resource Management

Tourism and resource management are two important aspects for community development. Since contact with European settlers, the communities of Haida Gwaii have primarily relied on fisheries and forestry for their economic wellbeing, but as resources decrease and management frameworks shift, the economy has been diversifying and tourism is increasing. Furthermore, there has been a strong push for reclaiming ownership and management rights by the Haida of their traditional territory, and the use of Haida heritage for tourism has been developed throughout the past decades. While most of the tourism and recreation on Haida Gwaii is concentrated along the coastline, the ongoing success of Gwaii Haanas tourism is particularly drawing increasing numbers of visitors to the region every year. The management of Gwaii Haanas and tourism operators are, therefore, supporting many local businesses in the Haida communities.

5.5.1

Tourism and Recreation

Haida Gwaii is a popular tourist destination and, for many, a visit to Gwaii Haanas is the trip of a lifetime.54 The unique combination of wilderness, wildlife and culture has been drawing tourists to the islands for many decades, and the park has been honoured as an outstanding cultural tourism site.55 The remoteness of Haida Gwaii, though, and the fact that it is only accessible by air or water make a journey to the islands expensive. Also, the tourist season is short, starting in May and ending in September. Each year, only about 2000 visitors come to Gwaii Haanas and stay an average of five nights (Statista.com 2020). Yet, in recent years, visits to Gwaii Haanas have slightly increased.56 This growth in tourism can be attributed to several factors, including increased media coverage and marketing that has publicized the

54

There are a number of guidebooks and travel accounts published about Haida Gwaii, e.g., Carey 1982, 1983; Gill 1997; Horwood 2009; Houston 2000; Kirkby 2011; and Susemihl 2016. 55 In 2015, Gwaii Haanas was selected as one of three finalists for the National Geographic Traveler World Legacy Award in the Sense of Place category, “recognizing excellence in enhancing cultural authenticity, including implementing vernacular architecture and design, support for the protection of historic monuments, archeological sites, indigenous heritage, and artistic traditions” (National Geographic Society 2015). 56 According to Parks Canada, the number of visitors to Gwaii Haanas has been increasing (2010: 1720; 2012: 1830; 2015: 2120; 2017: 3320). In 2018, the number dropped to 2650 visitors. Because most visitors come between May and September, I list the first year of each fiscal year (Statista.com 2020).

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beauty and mystery of the archipelago.57 The Haida have been involved in this process, launching their own homepage for tourism, publishing an annual trip planner This is Haida Gwaii: Tadswii’-Kaats’ii Hla and taking over the roles of guides and hosts. While Gwaii Haanas is a draw for many coming to Haida Gwaii, not all tourists make it into the protected area. One reason for this is the remoteness of the place. Graham Island, where the majority of villages on Haida Gwaii are located, and Moresby Island, which is home of Gwaii Haanas, are connected by a ferry that crosses Skidegate Channel that creates a physical barrier between the two islands. Additionally, heavy storms and rains in spring and autumn make access to the secluded sites difficult. Exploring the remote places of Gwaii Haanas can, therefore, be expensive. The high costs make it a destination predominantly for young, individual adventurers and affluent senior travellers, primarily from Canada, the United States, Japan and Europe. Furthermore, SGang Gwaay and other sites within Gwaii Haanas are only accessible by boat or plane as there are no roads. Tourists, therefore, venture into the protected area either in private vessels or on chartered tours by sailboat, kayak, powerboat or float plane and require trip permits. Those who intend to travel independently, instead of with a licensed tour operator, must attend an orientation course at the Haida Heritage Centre that outlines the natural and cultural history of the area and instructs visitors about how to conduct themselves to be respectful and minimize their impact (Sloan 2014, 278). While there has been tourism in south Moresby for half a century, allowing people to explore the remote wilderness and gain a better understanding of Haida culture, the Haida have not always been as involved as they are today. Early tourism consisted of kayak groups or sailboat tours to experience the wildlife and cultural landscape. Furthermore, decades ago tourism to SGang Gwaay was much bigger and more profitable. The large number of visitors, however, was damaging to the land,58 as Colin Richardson explains: We used to get a lot of visitors there, and many cruise ships used to come here [. . .]. We put our crew on them for five days, and we would go to SGang Gwaay. There were 140 passengers [. . .] and by the time all the crew came ashore, it was too many people. We flew our art down in a helicopter and set up shop down in SGang Gwaay. That was in the 1980s. But it became every clear that that wasn’t going to work; it was too hard on the land (Interview with Richardson 2011).

To provide a safe and enjoyable experience without compromising the ecological and social carrying capacity of Gwaii Haanas, the AMB has limited the number of

57

In 2016, CBC’s Rick Mercer did a show about Gwaii Haanas, and there have been several documentaries and films shown worldwide, including the documentary Haida Gwaii: On the Edge of the World (2015, dir. Charles Wilkinson, 74 min.) and the docudrama Hadwin’s Judgement (2015, dir. Sasha Snow, 87 min.), based on John Vaillant’s book The Golden Spruce (2005). 58 In 1995, approximately 2850 people spent a total of 12,300 nights in Gwaii Haanas. This exceeds the combined backcountry visitor nights for Jasper, Yoho, Kootenay, Revelstoke and Glacier National Parks. The following years have seen a substantial increase in the number of day users (AMB 2003, 23).

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people permitted in the protected area. In 2003, they established a quota and reservation system, distributing the available space between guided and independent travellers. They set the quota of 3300 user nights and restricted the party size to twelve people on shore at any one time, as that is a reasonable number of people the Watchmen are able to handle at a site. While this meant limiting the amount of income for Gwaii Haanas, as visitors pay an entrance fee for the park, Parks Canada has not yet achieved the number of people they set the quota on (AMB 2003, 24; Interview with Gladstone 2011). The 2003 Gwaii Haanas Management Plan also brought in limits for tour companies, capping the number of clients per day at 22 for each tour operator, thus limiting each tour operator to 2500 clients per year, allocating one third of visitors to the park to Haida tour operators (Barretto 2008). Quotas and restrictions created tensions, though, and in 2007 the Gwaii Haanas’ management arrangement was challenged in court by the tour operator Moresby Explorers Ltd., who has been taking tourists into the park since 1988.59 The court ruled that the management and quota system was legal and an innovative solution for protecting the area, and the company had to pull their floating lodge out of the parameters of the park (The Haida Nation 2010, 11). At the trial, the question of the importance of Haida culture to Gwaii Haanas was discussed, and Gladstone stressed the importance of Haida interpretation of the landscape: The AMB considered the possibility of a complete lack of Haida participation in the conducting of commercial tours in the Park Reserve to be unacceptable, as this would have resulted in a considerable void in the interpretation of the area’s natural and cultural heritage (Gladstone, quoted in Barretto 2008).

The court case Moresby Explorers Ltd. v. Canada (2007) was an important step in developing a trusting relationship between the Haida people and the government. In it, both parties stood by each other against a private entity for what both believed to be the greater good of Gwaii Haanas. From a Haida perspective, it showed that Parks Canada was willing to sacrifice visitor numbers so that they could protect Gwaii Haanas’ ecological and cultural integrity, thus strengthening the bond between the parties (Sargeant 2015, 83). Only operators who are licensed by the AMB/Parks Canada may operate within Gwaii Haanas, ensuring that safety standards are met for all businesses. In 2018, 22 tour operators that had an allocation to operate in Gwaii Haanas60 offered a variety of tours and transportation options. The licensing process remains controversial, though, as the Haida believe they do not require certification if they have sufficient local and Haida cultural knowledge (Interview with Wier 2011; Sargeant 59

During the case, the court considered the total absence of Haida tour operators in the park, while, at the same time, limits for non-Haida operators were oversubscribed. Discriminating between Haida and non-Haida businesses was deemed acceptable by the court since its object is to “ameliorate the condition of a historically disadvantaged group” (FCA 2007), thus, placing considerable value on cultural protection (Barretto 2008). 60 Not all listed companies intending to operate in Gwaii Haanas in 2018 may actually have done so, as customers were encouraged to contact tour operators directly (Gwaii Haanas Trip Planner 2018).

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2015, 81; Thomlinson and Crouch 2012). Gwaii Haanas does not evaluate guides on the extent of their knowledge of natural and cultural features (PC 2018b, 16). While for many years tours were run by non-Indigenous tour operators only, recently, Haida tour operators have emerged, such as Haida Style Expeditions, a Haida owned and operated company that shares Haida culture, stories and history with their visitors, seeking “to provide an authentic Aboriginal experience” (homepage). Generally, most tourists visit Gwaii Haanas for recreation and “the wilderness experience” and usually do not spend much time on the islands (Interview with Wier 2011). A visitor’s survey61 has shown that, usually, visitors are not well informed about the Haida and their culture. About a quarter of the visitors are not aware of Haida Gwaii being the homeland of Indigenous people, the Haida acclaimed title to the land, or the existence of the co-management of Gwaii Haanas. While the UNESCO label certainly makes SGang Gwaay a must-see place, many visitors have no knowledge of it. Others know about it, but are unsure of its meaning, and about 20 percent had not heard of UNESCO before. Culture is not always the initial draw for people wanting to visit Haida Gwaii. Due to efforts of educators, guides and tour operators, though, it becomes a strong part of the story that visitors hear. Increasing visitors’ knowledge and understanding of Gwaii Haanas is also a major goal of the AMB, with a strong emphasis on cultural education (AMB 2018, 22). In that respect, visitor orientation programs have been beneficial as they help to increase support for protection of natural and cultural heritage. Moreover, through guides educating their guests and Watchmen being present at village sites the Haida help to dispel any misconceptions of them as people still living in the past (Maher et al. 2007; AMB 2007), thus reclaiming and promoting their living culture and way of life.62

5.5.2

Benefits and Challenges of Tourism for the Haida

Besides educational aspects, there are a number of benefits and challenges resulting from tourism within Gwaii Haanas to the Haida Gwaii communities. These benefits are not equally distributed, though (Elliott 2017). Communities closer to the protected area contribute more than those farther away. Generally, tourism contributes to employment and economic diversity, social development, cultural revitalization and pride, as well as scientific observations. Economically, there are many direct and indirect jobs that result from tourism operations in Gwaii Haanas that strengthen 61

A visitor survey was conducted by the author of thirty visitors at Gwaii Haanas in 2011. A visitor survey showed that guided visitors demonstrated stronger support for the protection of Gwaii Haanas than independent visitors. They are better informed about, and more willing to follow, guidelines and habitats, showed greater support for protecting cultural heritage, and are more inspired to respect the maximum group size policies. Independent visitors, however, scored higher upon being informed of guidelines to protect heritage sites and are more informed of the cooperative management structure for Gwaii Haanas (Maher et al. 2007, 44). 62

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Figs. 5.9 and 5.10 Sarah’s Haida Art & Jewelry in Old Masset, Haida Gwaii, and three watchmen at the top of a totem pole in Masset. (Photos by Susemihl)

and diversify the economy and the social fabric of the Haida communities, including fishing, art, tour operations and employment in government and non-profit organizations (AMB 2018, 18; see Fig. 5.9). Tourism operators, for example, contribute to the communities by increased sales of goods and services to support their operations in Gwaii Haanas, such as supermarkets, transportation services, accommodations and visitor information centres (Elliott 2017, 40–45). And while the AMB and Parks Canada regulate connections between tour operators and communities, visitors are encouraged to spend time in the communities and support local businesses (Elliott 2017, 59–60).63 However, there are also economic challenges and negative consequences of increased tourism, such as the potential overuse of community resources and overcrowding of heritage sites. Furthermore, the cash flows and employment are only seasonal. Elliott (2017, 58) identifies multiple barriers that hinder the flow of The permit process requires Gwaii Haanas tour operators to fill in a trip completion form, listing wildlife sightings, trip routes, locations visited and encounters with other groups. The collected data are not only beneficial to the organizations that use the data, but, according to Elliott (2017, 62), they also create educational opportunities for guests, contribute to conservation research, and give the tourism companies scientific credibility. 63

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benefits of Gwaii Haanas tourism to the various communities, such as transportation challenges and a need for infrastructure to keep up with increasing numbers of visitors. The communities on Haida Gwaii are small64 and have limited infrastructure to support tourism, a limited number of tourist services and limited resources and goods.65 This is especially true for the Haida communities of Skidegate and Old Masset. Moreover, while increased sales of goods and services due to tourism boosts economic gains, it may put residents at a disadvantage, limiting their access to goods and services (ibid., 52). Also, many tourists come to Haida Gwaii for sports fishing and hunting, and these industries use self-contained lodges and transport their supplies and guests and only few of the benefits go directly to the communities (ibid., 48). Insensitivity toward cultural resources, practices and knowledge as a result of ignorance or perceived inauthentic representations may further damage cultural resources, artifacts and areas of sacred significance. At certain places, Indigenous residents may even experience a feeling as if they are on display (ibid., 73). Tourism operators, for the most part, are, thus, careful to ensure that their guests ask permission to take photos of people and behave respectfully. In any case, education and engagement of visitors by locals is the best way to ensure respect and understanding of the Haida people and culture. Overall, the development of tourism in the northern communities is rather slow, as Elliott (2017, 56) points out, as much of the energy and resources have been focused on Gwaii Haanas and the southern communities. Also, having Parks Canada as a federal agency involved in tourism on the south end of Graham Island provides a lot of support in terms of capacity and funding that is lacking in the northern communities. Along with this, as in many remote communities, youth tend to move away from Haida Gwaii for employment and educational opportunities. Tourism may create employment that can potentially attract youth back to Haida Gwaii once they have completed their training and education elsewhere, and employment within the tourism sector, as in the Haida Watchman program, can even provide opportunities to acquire skills without leaving Haida Gwaii. Tourism for the Haida means more than financial benefits; it is a source of empowerment and capacity building, of pride and acknowledgement. Cultural benefits are the promotion of respect for and understanding of Haida culture, the support for conservation and documentation of cultural knowledge, language and artifacts, increased support and opportunities for cultural revitalization, and employment that reinforces cultural links with land and sea. Social benefits are increased education and training opportunities, increased self-esteem and community pride, intergenerational connections, knowledge sharing and strong community spirit amongst Haida Watchmen and tourism operators. According to Alix Goetzinger,

64

In 2017, there were 4381 people living on Haida Gwaii, 852 of them in Daajing Giids, 793 in Masset, 296 in Sandspit, 282 in Port Clements, 183 in Tlell and the remaining in rural areas (Statistics Canada 2017d, e, f, g, h, i, j). 65 Transportation within and between communities is limited, as there are only few roads on the islands, many of them unpaved logging roads, and there is no public transportation available.

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cultural ambassador at the Haida Heritage Centre, many visitors arrive with certain perceptions of Indigenous people, but leave with others: It’s pushed me to learn about my culture more as a young Haida person. I feel really empowered that I’m the one that gets to give them a positive view of not just Haida people, but First Nations culture as a whole. People that come here come with prejudiced ideas and concerns about our people. Some people use really derogatory terms; they still call us Indians when they come here. And when they leave they have this enlightened view and they realize who we really are and that our culture is worth protecting (Alix Goetzinger, quoted in Lui 2016).

In general, citizens of Haida Gwaii are in favour of tourism, which brings new perspectives and economic inputs. Having tourists come from around the world to visit gives a sense of pride and confidence to the residents. While many community members welcome an increasing and developing tourism and an transportation infrastructure to support more tourism, large-scale development such as lodges in Gwaii Haanas are not wanted (Elliott 2017, 52). For the Haida, Gwaii Haanas is a protected area used for their wellbeing, and tourism is not of high priority to them, as Wilson confirms: “It’s not all about tourism [. . .] I would gladly live without” (Interview with Wilson 2011). Colin Richardson agrees: “Haida people don’t even really use it for tourism. [. . .] We, the Haida, have a substantial amount of visitor nights down there, but they are basically not used. The Haida don’t see that as a big issue” (Interview with Richardson 2011). Having strong seasonal influx of workers, job opportunities, tourists and related services means that there are more services available year-round, helping to maintain a quality of life throughout the year, and tourism related employment strengthens social, cultural and economic aspects of the communities (Elliott 2017, 40). The natural and social capital of Haida Gwaii and specifically of Gwaii Haanas strongly supports the nature-based and cultural tourism industry growing across the islands. The relationships and community connections that support Gwaii Haanas tourism can be expanded to create a support network for tourism development elsewhere on the islands. Careful management of tourism development is the key to building and maintaining a sustainable nature-based and cultural tourism industry. As it evolves, however, it is important that the growth does not exceed the capacity of Gwaii Haanas and the communities. To ensure ecologically sustainable tourism, the AMB strives to review visitor policies such as the Backcountry Management Plan regularly “to facilitate visitation and encourage business growth while protecting natural and cultural heritage” (AMB 2018, 20). Moreover, to improve local benefits from activities in Gwaii Haanas, the AMB works with local, regional and national organizations (AMB 2018, 20–21). To support visits to Gwaii Haanas, for example, the AMB partners with local and regional tourism organizations to improve destination marketing, and partnerships with schools and universities may increase visits by youth (AMB 2018, 27). Involving community members in tourism management decisions that affect the communities would likely increase local investment. However, ecological impacts of recreation and tourism within Gwaii Haanas are minimized by the relatively low number of visitors, the fact that most visitors are conscious of their impacts on the environments and the presence of Haida

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Gwaii Watchmen and Parks Canada wardens throughout the visitor season (PC 2008, 45).

5.5.3

Resource Management

Development at Gwaii Haanas is connected to the developments on Haida Gwaii in general, where resource extraction has been an issue for decades. While in the terrestrial area of Gwaii Haanas, commercial and recreational extraction does not occur anymore, in the marine area, commercial and recreational marine activities such as fisheries may occur if they are conducted in a manner that is consistent with the management plan. Consequently, an ecosystem-based management framework to evaluate human activities in Gwaii Haanas has been developed to ensure that activities are ecologically sustainable and provide social, cultural and/or economic benefits (AMB 2018, 20). The primary terrestrial management goal in Gwaii Haanas is to maintain or improve ecological integrity, fostering ecologically sustainable resource use that benefits Haida Gwaii communities and reducing the ecological footprint of Gwaii Haanas operational activities. The LSP Plan identifies several objectives concerning this major goal, besides ensuring that tourism in Gwaii Haanas is ecologically sustainable. The AMB further aims to reduce the environmental impacts of operations in Gwaii Haanas and to reduce greenhouse gas emissions. It also collaborates with businesses, government agencies and other organizations to build local capacity and provide economic opportunities in order to improve local benefits from activities in Gwaii Haanas. Besides tourism, the area of Gwaii Haanas supports fisheries that, in turn, sustain local and regional businesses and have a large degree of influence on the area (Sargeant 2015, 95). To ensure that fisheries in Gwaii Haanas work ecologically sustainable, Haida traditional knowledge is incorporated into decision-making processes, an ecosystem-based management framework is developed, and all fisheries are evaluated. What is more, the AMB works with agencies to manage and monitor vessel traffic to minimize impacts to Gwaii Haanas (AMB 2018, 20–21). Thus, AMB members are not solely focused on conservation and Indigenous rights, but industry plays a prominent role in management decisions, as well, and the complexity of managing fisheries must not be understated (AMB 2018, 95–96).66 While setting a legal precedent for conservation rights and co-management relationships, the Gwaii Haanas Agreement also provides a foundation for appropriate and meaningful place-based management of the herring fishery. This involves challenges,

Highly migratory pelagic fisheries, such as herring, that move in and out of various jurisdictions, are difficult to manage, and managerial bodies that cover all jurisdictions, such as the Marine Plan Partnership for the North Pacific Coast (MaPP), the Integrated Herring Harvest Planning Committee (IHHPC) and The Pacific North Coast Integrated Management Area (PNCIMA), facilitate the management (Sargeant 2015, 100). 66

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though, and different disputes challenged the system and stressed the relationship building. In 2014, in fact, the herring dispute challenged, for the first time, the AMB’s ability to resolve a major disagreement. The debate was over what portions of Gwaii Haanas Marine would become no-take marine reserves. While both the Council of the Haida Nation and Parks Canada believed that 30 percent would be no-take, the fishing industry and DFO had a different opinion. Parks Canada advocated for the herring fishery to remain closed, while DFO decided the stocks could support a limited harvest. This controversy caused a severe rift in the AMB, because Parks Canada and DFO67 had differing opinions.68 While all three partners – the CHN, Parks Canada and DFO – have had a long working relationship prior to the formation of Gwaii Haanas Marine, trust and understanding needed strengthening, and what was previously perceived as a stable cooperative management turned out to be indeed a process of relationship building (Thomlinson and Crouch 2012). In the end, the AMB was able to reach consensus, recommending that the herring fishery remain closed for 2014 (ibid., 97).69 However, the herring fishery dispute resolution process represented a test for Gwaii Haanas’ cooperative management regime. It revealed the complexity of cooperative management and ultimately led to the invocation of a final disagreement clause, setting a new precedent for the AMB (ibid., 96). For a long time, recreational and sports fishing and hunting were issues on Haida Gwaii, as well (Gill 2009; Notzke 1994; Susemihl 2016). In 1995, however, the CHN called for the end of the recreational bear hunt on Haida Gwaii and successfully retired the last remaining bear hunting licenses by purchasing the license and lodge via the Haida Enterprise Corporation. Over the past decade, the CHN has worked to removed all third party interests, and in 2002, it held a notification forum, inviting all holders of tenures for forestry, fishing and mining, with ongoing operations and interests in Haida Gwaii, as Wilson remembers:

67 Compared to the other parties of the AMB, DFO is unique because of its more recent membership within the AMB and of its triple mandate (Aboriginal rights, conservation and industry), as underlined by the Fisheries Act. 68 Under statutory law, the DFO member had to support his Minister’s decision to open the fishery. Since Parks Canada and the CHN believed the fishery should remain closed, the first ever dispute resolution process to be invoked in the AMB’s history was initiated. Since the Gwaii Haanas Agreement is signed by two parties (The Government of Canada and the CHN), Parks Canada was placed in a difficult situation. Even though their mandate advocates for conservation, they were required to side with DFO because they both represented the Government of Canada. The dispute resolution process is intended to be invoked when the AMB is unable to reach consensus on their level, in which case the dispute would be brought to higher-level authorities. In this instance, however, the dispute originated at a higher, ministerial level, disturbing the consensus that was originally reached by the AMB and consequently forced the AMB into disagreement (Sargeant 2015, 92). 69 The following year, the Haida exercised their co-management rights, successfully closing the herring fishery for conservation purposes (Jones et al. 2017).

5.5 “They Realize Who We Really Are”: Tourism and Resource Management

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They invited all third-party interests that were working on the islands, and they said, from this day forth you are liable. If you do something untoward on our lands, we will hold you responsible for it [. . .] There were people who worked for the Department of Highways, people who worked in forestry, people who worked in lodges, people that had companies that did resource extraction – they were all invited. And the Haida people were invited to witness. And it happened [. . .]. They didn’t leave right away; it’s a waiting game; it’s negotiations (Interview with Wilson 2011)

Throughout this process, the Haida acquired privately owned sports hunting and fishing lodges that are now advocates of Indigenous tourism, dedicated to “offering an authentic Haida Gwaii experience,” enhanced by immersive eco-adventures and arts, culture and heritage programming (Haida House at Tlaall https://www. haidatourism.ca/haida-house). The Haida also established agencies to manage their resources and develop a sustainable economy on Haida Gwaii. Their business entity is Haida Enterprise Corporation (HaiCo), created in 2009. Committed to stewardship of its resources, HaiCo focuses on building companies that reflect Haida cultural values, creating careers and improving the lives of Haida citizens. Subsidiary companies of HaiCo are diverse, with interests in cultural tourism, forestry, wood manufacturing and seafood processing. Likewise, through teaching entrepreneurship, Haida Owned and Operated70 has aided the island’s ongoing transition away from a resource-based economy towards a more diversified local economy (Milam 2017). While forestry is no longer an issue at Gwaii Haanas, it is still an important economic venture on the islands. In 2009, the Haida bought large forest tenure, enabling the Nation to control the majority of logging activities on the islands. A year later, they created Taan Forest Ltd. as a Haida-owned forestry company which provides economic opportunities while protecting the Nation’s environmental and cultural assets. Taan Forest supports the socioeconomic aims of the Reconciliation Protocol Agreement to ensure that Haida citizens and local communities on Haida Gwaii benefit from commercial activity on the island, bringing economic, social and cultural benefits to the communities. While in the past, logging companies would hire contractors from outside of Haida Gwaii who would leave the islands when a job was completed, Taan Forest hires contractors that support employing locals, ensuring that the revenues and trained employees stay on the islands. Taan has created twenty full time positions, half of which are held by Haida. Through Taan, the Haida ensure that selective and sustainable forestry management is at the core of forestry operations.71 It invests in the training and capacity building of local workers who take culture feature identification training in order to be able to identify important 70

Haida Owned and Operated is a program under the umbrella of Aboriginal Canadian Entrepreneurs (ACE) and a collaborative effort of the Council of the Haida Nation, the two Haida Band Councils, the Tribal Resources Investment Corporation (TRICORP), HaiCo and the Gustavson School of Business at the University of Victoria. 71 Taan Forest has obtained Forest Stewardship Council Certification and Rainforest Alliance Certification and is accountable to the conservation standards of the Haida Nation’s Land Use Order, ensuring that sensitive ecosystems, as well as habitats, are protected (Taan Forest Homepage, https://www.taanforest.com).

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cultural features, such as culturally modified trees and archeological sites. Taan also works closely with the Heritage Department of the Haida Nation to ensure that all cultural features that are discovered are recorded, mapped and protected (Haida Nation 2016). The Haida black bear logo of the company, taan meaning “black bear” in the Haida language, is an expression of Haida language and art in the market, which creates pride in the Haida culture. The Haida have, thus, once again taken over the management of the resources of the archipelago to maintain their culture and their community’s way of life.

5.6

Community Commitment and Communication: Programs and Learning

SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas play a significant role in the empowerment of the Haida and the education of visitors, and different programs have been created to communicate traditional Haida culture and values. Supporting the continuity of Haida culture and advancing knowledge and understanding of Gwaii Haanas are also two major goals that have been committed to in the Land-Sea-People plan – two issues that are strongly interconnected, since Haida culture is based on Haida relationship with the land. As Gwaii Haanas continues to have great cultural, spiritual and economic importance, the sharing of traditional knowledge, language and laws is central to connecting people and place, and “traditionally based land, sea and air activities continue and are important for Haida food security and spiritual and cultural well-being” (AMB 2018, 18). Moreover, Haida traditional knowledge about the land and sea and Haida culture is handed down from generation to generation, connecting people to the land and sea, and to cultural values, ethics and laws. In part, it is this knowledge of the land and ocean that has ensured the continued success of Haida culture. There are several issues related to the protection of the visible and invisible portions of the Haida’s intellectual property. Among others, accessing Gwaii Haanas can be difficult and costly. The AMB is, thus, working to ensure that both present and future generations of Haida have opportunities to experience Gwaii Haanas, as Haida culture is intrinsically tied to viable livelihoods and community well-being. To continue to support a living Haida culture and economy, the LSP Plan gives several targets. Besides identifying and implementing protocols to guide Haida use and stewardship in Gwaii Haanas, Haida cultural programs are to be developed, economic opportunities for Haida in Gwaii Haanas are maintained or increased, and opportunities for Haida cultural activities, such as carving projects in Gwaii Haanas, are improved through partnerships and application of traditional knowledge and laws (AMB 2018, 19). Likewise, the Haida Gwaii Watchmen Program and youth programs have been integrated into the LSP Plan, offering opportunities for island youth and adults to connect to Gwaii Haanas, while learning about cultural stewardship and leadership.

5.6

Community Commitment and Communication: Programs and Learning

5.6.1

291

Learning on the Land: The Haida Gwaii Watchmen Program

An integral part of protecting the villages and natural sites within Gwaii Haanas is the Haida Gwaii Watchmen Program. Several decades ago, the Haida Nation became concerned about vandalism at sacred sites with massive logging and unregulated tourism involved. As a result, people volunteered to watch over several sacred sites, using their own boats to reach remote beaches, thus starting the Haida Gwaii Watchmen Program in 1981. In the past, Haida Watchmen were posted at strategic positions around the villages to raise alarm in advance of an approaching enemy. To symbolise this important role, three human figures wearing high hats were (and still are) often carved at the very top of Haida poles and stood sentinel over the village (see Fig. 5.10). Today, the carved Watchmen form the symbol for the program. In operation for years prior to the designation of Gwaii Haanas, the Watchmen program facilitates traditionally based use and stewardship and provides positive economic, cultural, social and spiritual contributions to the communities of Haida Gwaii through skill development, capacity building and offering employment opportunities that support traditional connections with the land and sea. The development of the program reflects the Haida struggle for self-determination, and as AMB co-chair Cindy Boyko states, the Haida Gwaii Watchmen program “is a touchstone to our past and future” (Boyko, quoted in AMB 2018, 18). Today, the Watchmen serve as guardians at five sensitive cultural sites of former villages in Gwaii Haanas. At these places, they welcome visitors and offer a firsthand introduction to Haida culture by sharing their stories, songs, dances and traditional food, aiming to educate young Haida and visitors about the natural and cultural heritage of Gwaii Haanas.72 For visitors, the Haida Gwaii Watchman program is an especially significant part of the Gwaii Haanas experience. The program is very popular with tourists and meeting the Watchmen is often a highlight for them.73 According to Anna M. Husband of Visitors Services, the Watchmen “embody the living Haida culture; they give visitors the opportunity to make personal connections with Haida people and learn about both historic and contemporary Haida life” (Husband, quoted in Patterson 2017). Education for the Haida Gwaii Watchmen and the visitors is an important component of the protection. Some of the Watchmen express pride in having the opportunity to be an ambassador for their culture, sharing their stories and helping to educate visitors about who they are as a people. While Elders pass on their knowledge to a younger generation, the youth obtain a new intimacy with and knowledge

72

Haida Gwaii Watchmen are located at the villages of K’uuna Llnagaay (Skedans), T’aanuu Llnagaay (Tanu), Hlk’yah GaawGa (Windy Bay), Gandll K’in Gwaay.yaay (Hotspring Island), and SGang Gwaay (Ninstints). 73 In an account of a trip to Windy Bay and Hotspring Island, Carol Patterson writes: “Like those who came before me, I’ll be saying my time with Haida Gwaii Watchmen was the best part of my trip!” (Patterson 2017).

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about the land. In preparing for the job, the Watchmen go through a cultural training program to ensure a level of consistency, but there is freedom to tell their own stories and interact with guests in their own way, be it through storytelling or song, or discussing current events and political challenges, as Ernie Gladstone explains: We don’t require them to tell stories or act as guides to visitors. It’s something they chose to do on their own. Their stories are not scripted. It depends upon the visitor, how large the group, what their interests are. And they (visitors) learn different stories and they learn about the personal connections these watchmen have with these individual sites (Ernie Gladstone, quoted in Patterson 2017).

Additionally, the Watchmen learn practical skills necessary to live in a remote location for extended periods of time and they receive training in boat and radio operation. At the sites the Watchmen stay in cabins with composting toilets and electricity generated by solar panels (see Fig. 5.11). This notion of a simpler way of life in a wilderness setting where culture and nature are entwined is “very attractive to residents and tourists seeking the experience of living in tune with the movements and rhythms of the natural world” (Elliott 2017, 49). For the Haida, the program is a way of communicating their heritage, but also a gateway to their heritage. The training for the program introduces people to traditional knowledge, stories and language. At the same time, they go on a personal journey, learning about their individual past, their families, language, stories and

Fig. 5.11 Station of the Haida Gwaii Watchmen at Ḵ’uuna Llnagaay/Skedans. (Photo by Susemihl)

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293

crests, as Barbara Wilson, who has been teaching the Watchmen for years, explains: “I give them a base of themselves, so that they know who they are.” With her teachings, often Wilson “uses” herself “as a ruler”: I remember how I felt when I found out my Haida name; [. . .] when I found out what my crests were, and the stories that go with it. I build on that, because I think that what I experienced is probably the norm of what other people feel, because our grandparents are gone and the people who are our mothers and fathers now don’t know (Interview with Wilson 2011).

The training is, an important step in their self-growth, argues Wilson: “My intent is always to have them want to know more. If I start with them as individuals, it makes it easier for them to look a little further” (Interview with Wilson 2011). They also learn the history of the different sites. For that purpose, Wilson prepared a brochure about the old Haida villages such as SGang Gwaay and Skedans, including origin stories, maps, pictures and historic photographs, the names of the houses, the layout of the village and an inventory of the site, including the location and design of the poles and their whereabouts. To gather information about the traditional Haida way of life and culture, she relies on studies of non-Indigenous anthropologists such as Swanton (1903, 1905a, b, 1908) as that is “the best we can have when you look at [. . .] a hundred and fifty years of being subjugated to not knowing” (ibid.). The Haida Gwaii Watchmen have their own management structure and are funded by several sources, including Parka Canada and the fees visitors pay to enter the park.74 The program is also an important source of economic development for the Haida. From May to October, it provides seasonal employment for Haida men and women between 16 and 80 years of age (PC 2019b). As such, the Watchmen are operational level co-managers of Gwaii Haanas, working collaboratively with the tour operators to conserve, protect and promote the culture and nature of Gwaii Haanas. Largely, there is a sense of community amongst the Watchmen and the tourism operators who bring their guests to the sites, as they are reliant on each other. According to Elliott (2017, 55), a strong community and support network has developed among those who live and work in Gwaii Haanas during the tourism season, and the feeling of solidarity and comradeship “adds to the visitor experience as people love to experience that sense of community in a remote setting.” Elliott, however, also states that “several tourism operators commented on the fact that the Parks Canada wardens and other Parks Canada staff are not a strong part of the community, stating that everyone, operators, parks staff, Watchmen and guests would all benefit if there was more connection among the groups” (ibid.). On the whole, having the Haida Watchmen as hosts of tourists in Gwaii Haanas ensures that the Haida story and traditional ways of life are shared in authentic and meaningful ways while presenting the Haida as a vibrant contemporary culture, rather than one lost to the past. With growing tourism, Elliott (2017, 78) reasons,

74

The Haida Gwaii Watchmen are part of the Coastal Guardian Watchmen, a regional initiative that continues to monitor, steward and protect the coastal territories along the Pacific coast (https:// coastalfirstnations.ca/our-stewartship/coastal-guardian-watchmen/).

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there might be a need for more Watchmen to be stationed at each village site, though. Involving more youth and partnering them with more experienced Watchmen and Elders will also support intergenerational knowledge sharing and benefit individuals and communities.

5.6.2

Rediscovering Haida Heritage: Culture Camps and Youth Education

Youth camps are another opportunity for Haida youth to establish a re-connection to Haida land, culture and heritage. Offering a unique outdoor educational experience and rooting young people in their natural environment, the camps are trying to create a special relationship to places, fostering ecological integrity and highlighting the importance of community and “thereby empowering youth to become stewards for their own lives and their unique island home” (MMAC http://mountmoresbyadventurecamp.ca/). On Haida Gwaii, three youth camps aim to make outdoor education and a connection with the land an essential part of youth culture, using cultural heritage as resource of empowerment and capacity building. While one camp – Mount Moresby Adventure Camp – is operated by the Mount Moresby Adventure Camp Society, the other two camps – T’aalan Stl’ang Culture Camp at Lepas Bay75 and ‘Laanaa DaaGang.nga at Swan Bay in the south – are operated by the Haida community. The camps take place in a remote wilderness setting within Gwaii Haanas or along the shore and look back at a long history. Forty years ago, the Haida set out to reconnect youth with their culture after two centuries of colonization, and in 1978, they launched a programme of rediscovery for local youth on the remote shores of T’aalan Stl’ang (“the beach that has everything”), within the Duu Guusd Haida Heritage Site on the northwest tip of the islands, which was the first of its kind nationwide (CHN 2011). Since then, the camp has served as a blueprint for more than thirty camps around the globe that unite young people with the cultural practices, values and histories of their ancestors. On Haida Gwaii, over 2000 youth have attended the camps, as of today. Participants are between eight and seventeen years of age and of Indigenous and non-Indigenous ancestry, although registration preference is given to Haida youth. Taking advantage of a unique opportunity to live on the land, the camps are places where young people gain a set of skills that are relevant to the local environment, based on traditional values. Through a variety of cultural and sports activities such as hiking, fishing, canoeing and other wilderness and marine activities, Indigenous children and youth learn cultural skills and knowledge from Elders while acquiring life skills and self-confidence. They spend a week or more living in

75

The Rediscovery Program is guided by the Rediscovery Steering Committee, consisting of representatives from Old Masset Village Council (OMVC), the Council of the Haida Nation and two community members (https://www.rediscoveryhaidagwaii.com).

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traditional longhouses, learning to survive off the land and practicing Haida stewardship laws. Cultural activities at the camps include visiting Haida heritage sites, receiving Haida language teaching, traditional singing and dancing, and learning cedar bark weaving. They participate in ceremonies, following the tradition of the Haida potlatch with feasting, gift giving and storytelling, and partake in a traditional harvest, learning about traditional food gathering and preparation. They also play games, have physical challenges, and “get to experience a sense of community and connection to the earth that can empower them for years to come” (GTS 2017; PC 2020b). Learning to embrace their cultural heritage, the camps are an important source of empowerment for Indigenous youth, as Jason Alsop explains: “This is our land. We go down and camp there and look after it [. . .]. It makes you feel better about who you are; you build up a relationship with the land” (Interview with Alsop 2011). The educational focus of all three camps is on land stewardship and youth leadership. A variety of workshops are conducted in this regard, including forest, marine, bog and coastal ecology, forest and water ecosystems, and Haida history and culture, seeking to connect participants with professionals who work with the land, including archeologists, scientists and Watchmen. By revitalizing Haida culture, the camps increase cultural and environmental awareness, help establish a cultural identity and create the next generation of Haida leaders who understand how to care for and sustain the lands and waters of Haida Gwaii (Coast Funds 2019, 4). Outdoor education has also entered the school curriculum. For over a decade, the Mount Moresby Adventure Camp Society, for example, has been running the Forest Stewardship Program in conjunction with the school district, facilitating students’ participation during the school year. It offers week-long camps for students in grades 5, 9 and 11, and a partnership with Gwaii Haanas allows the grade 9s to spend two nights at Windy Bay, exploring ecology and Haida cultural history. Out of this program and the perceived need to extend the impact of outdoor education, the Outdoor Education Program has developed. Begun in 2013, it brings community, culture, land and sea into the students’ learning environment and utilizes curricula with Prescribed Learning Outcomes in order to engage students in new outdoor learning opportunities. Every three weeks, the program takes grade 5 students from local elementary schools on full-day excursions to study math, social science, history, culture, physical education, English and communication in nature. In these lessons, the children enjoy bog ecology, salmon enhancement, food harvesting, fishing, clam digging, forest navigation, fire making, kayaking and more (GTS 2017; MMAC homepage). By engaging students in experiential learning contexts outside of the classroom, the programs address various challenges many families on Haida Gwaii face such as high student dropout rates that are above the provincial average, and limited public recreation facilities (GTS 2017; MMAC homepage). Funding these programs has been a challenge, though. Since the ‘results’ of the camps appear hard to measure, government funding is minimal and local funding important (RCAP 1996, 151). Besides local businesses, the Gwaii Trust has been a strong supporter of all three camps, believing the camps “bring enormous benefits to individual campers as well as the islands community” (GTS 2017). In 2016, Gwaii Trust distributed CAD 90,000 to the three camps together and approved a major

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contributions grant to Rediscovery Haida Gwaii to replace the old cookhouse building at T’alaan Stl’aang. In 2017, solar panels were installed at all three camps (Hudson 2017b), which also served as another step in teaching children sustainability and respect for the land, as Rosemary Hart of the Rediscovery Haida Gwaii steering committee explains: “Being off-grid, this will be a great opportunity to teach our youth about energy” (Hart, quoted in Hudson 2017b). Both Haida camps are also subsidized by the Haida band councils and do their own fundraising.

5.6.3

Education Enhancement: Embracing Haida Culture and Knowledge

The connection to heritage through education has also been formally recognized by the BC Ministry of Education. Heritage is a means for education, connecting children and youth with traditional ways of life and language. Education can be an agent of cultural survival, used to pass on the values and customs of the community, and infusing children with their culture helps them “grow to become healthy, contributing members of society” (RCAP 1996, 153).76 Education is, therefore, “the key that unlocks the door to the future – a future where Aboriginal nations will be prosperous, self-determining entities” (RCAP 1996, 151). For Indigenous youth, education has two purposes: to build and enhance their understanding of themselves as Indigenous people and to prepare them for life in the modern world. While they want to acquire traditional knowledge and skills, they also want to be educated in a number of professional fields – two kinds of knowledge that are complementary. According to the Stol:lo scholar of Indigenous education Jo-ann Archibald (2008), students are more likely to succeed if their culture and surroundings are represented in their school and learning environment, and culturally responsive math and science curricula in which students, for example, learn physics by observing how a canoe slices through water (Baluja 2012) can be an asset in that respect.77 Education is what shapes young minds, and Elders who have experienced a traditional education and developed a vision for the future have a passionate concern for the future of Indigenous children. Hence, Elders’ roles in Indigenous education are manifold. With their knowledge and experience, they are able to teach about history, culture, tradition, language, traditional skills, values, customs, philosophies and knowledge systems. They want children of tomorrow to know themselves as

76

Education was the topic most talked about by the Elders appearing before the Royal Commission of Aboriginal Peoples (RCAP 1996, 118). 77 In British Columbia, approximately 54 percent of Indigenous students graduate within six years of entering grade 8, compared with 80 percent for all students in the public-school system. For each Indigenous person who drops out, the Canadian Council on Learning estimates the cost of “nongraduation” is CAD 4230 in social assistance and CAD 8098 in health coverage (Baluja 2012).

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Indigenous people and, thus, the Elders call for an education that respects Indigenous skills, knowledge and traditions. Unfortunately, this view often collides with Western approaches to education and its assumptions about what kind of skills, knowledge and values constitute a ‘good’ education, as, in the Western tradition, Indigenous knowledge is often seen as inferior or irrelevant. Considered as ‘guardians of Indigenous cultures’, Elders’ role in cultural and language development in all school systems must, therefore, be acknowledged, and their professional status recognized and appropriately compensated. They not only can fill the need for closer interaction between the generations and act as resources in many fields, giving advice, support and guidance to education staff and students by sharing their knowledge and experience. Moreover, as modern science is beginning to recognize and validate Indigenous conceptions of the universe, Elders can provide valuable teaching and tutoring, storytelling and language instruction (RCAP 1996, 118–119). Recognizing the significant role of educational institutions, Indigenous people have been seeking community control of these institutions. Since 1972, when the National Indian Brotherhood presented its landmark policy paper, Indian Control of Indian Education (1972) to the Minister of Indian Affairs, Indigenous communities have been calling for involvement and control of the education of their youth. The Haida have been fighting for better education of their children for decades, and even during colonial times they “did everything possible to reduce absence from school” (van den Brink 1976, 139).78 Traditionally, however, education did not comprise schooling. Instead, learning for life and survival “happened during all the waking hours, each and every day, and all life long. Learning occurred through life experience – not in abstraction or set apart from on-going activities” (GoNT 1993, xxvi). Today, many Haida have expressed a strong desire to see students learn more about the Haida language, places where they live, Haida history and culture, and economic and ecological issues that will shape the future of the islands’ communities. Progress in this area is seen as important for its own sake, as well as a potential means of increasing students’ engagement with school and, hence, academic success and graduation rates. Many school employees, however, share the opinion that resources available on the islands are not used adequately in schools and that, in the past, the district used to place a greater emphasis on outdoor education and the integration of Haida content. Yet, integration depends to a large extent on the initiative of individual teachers. This has led to an emphasis on ‘Culturally Responsive Education’ intertwining science, math, social studies and language arts with the language, history, culture and ecology of Haida Gwaii, in an effort to embrace and embed Haida culture in their actions and instruction, so “as to not perpetuate the assimilative model that informed educational practise back to the days of residential schools” (SD50 2012, 3–4).

Van den Brink (1976, 139) claims that the Haida even took the need for education “into consideration in planning interinsular migrations” and protested “against the restricted admission to residential schools.” 78

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Residential schools and strenuous situations on reserves have also left their traces in terms of children’s educational achievement. Today, many Indigenous youth fail to complete high school and there are complex challenges involved in raising graduation rates and academic performance. Progress is likely to come about as a result of many separate initiatives, not all of which involve the high schools directly, but also other programs (SD50 2012, 6–7). In British Columbia, which has a very high percentage of Indigenous youth,79 many school districts have an Aboriginal Education Enhancement Agreement between a school district, Indigenous communities and the Ministry of Education designed to enhance the educational achievement of Indigenous students. The agreements are intended to improve the quality of education, establish collaborative partnerships between Indigenous communities and school districts that involve shared decision-making and specific goal setting to meet the educational needs of Indigenous students, and provide communities greater autonomy to find solutions that work for students, schools and communities. Fundamental to the agreements is the requirement that school districts provide programs on the culture of local Indigenous peoples on whose traditional territories the districts are located. At the same time, the agreements particularly stress the integral nature of Indigenous traditional culture and languages for student development and success (GoBC 2020; SD50 2012, 2–7).80 The first Aboriginal Education Enhancement Agreement for Haida Gwaii was signed by members of the school board and the band councils in 2012. It manifested people’s commitment to make whatever changes were needed so that the benefits could be enjoyed by Indigenous and non-Indigenous students alike, acknowledging and honoring the Haida Nation as the First People of the islands (ibid.). Since then, the agreement acts as a formal template for educators, although much of what it covered had already been implemented. It focuses on helping students develop a strong sense of belonging to their learning environment and community and on improving academic performance, while collaborative decision making occurs with the Haida communities and stakeholders on all issues of importance in education.81

79

While 29 percent of the BC population (2006) is under 25, in the northwest region the Indigenous number is above 46 percent (SD50 2012, 2). 80 First Nation schools are funded by the federal government, through Indigenous Services Canada, and operated by local First Nations. In British Columbia, First Nations schools are also supported by the First Nations Education Steering Committee and the First Nations Schools Association. Generally, First Nation schools are outside of the Province’s jurisdiction except for those that choose to become B.C. certified independent schools, which operate according to the Independent School Act. 81 The main partners in this agreement are School District No. 50 (Haida Gwaii), the Old Massett Village Council, the Skidegate Band Council, the Council of the Haida Nation, and the Ministry of Education. Other partners that have been involved are Literacy Haida Gwaii (which leads a variety of community literacy initiatives), Community Futures (which plays a key role in on-island adult education and career development), Swan Bay and Lepas Bay Rediscovery, Mount Moresby Adventure Camp, the various PACs and DPAC throughout the School District, and Simon Fraser University and the University of British Columbia, which have been involved in long-term research partnerships with Haida Gwaii communities (SD50 2012, 3).

5.7 “That Which Makes Us Haida”: The Haida Language

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For the past decades, primary and secondary education has continually been improving for Haida youth. Until the 1970s, many students’ education did not extend to the senior secondary level before leaving school, as the only opportunity for a grade-twelve education was in Masset (SD50 2012, 4). In 1976, Queen Charlotte Elementary Secondary began to offer Haida classes and Grade 1–11 Haida study kits were created.82 Today, besides six provincial-run public schools on the islands, there are two community schools run by the Skidegate and Masset Band Council, respectively: the Skidegate Band Nursery School and Chief Matthews School (K-4) in Masset.83 A Haida language curriculum has also been developed that includes culturally sensitive knowledge in many subjects (Hudson 2018). In these educational achievements, Gwaii Haanas and Haida heritage play a major role. Increasing opportunities for learning in Gwaii Haanas has been defined as another objective of the AMB, which includes giving post-secondary students opportunities to participate in field courses and supports interpretation by Haida Gwaii Watchmen and tour operators through education and training opportunities (AMB 2018, 27). Also, Parks Canada with their mandate of supporting the Haida Nation in continuing their culture runs public outreach activities, including school projects. DFO engineers and biologists, for example, help volunteers run salmon enhancement programs such as small hatcheries and stream restorations. One of the programs is “Salmon in the Classroom,” funded by Fisheries and Oceans Canada. Every year, a dozen incubators are brought into classrooms, and students learn the salmon lifecycle, covering ecology and habitat, stream restoration and forestry practices. Along with the first introduction to the salmon eggs and the final fry release into a nearby creek, students get lessons from instructors contracted by DFO, “ranging from dissections to beach seining an eelgrass bed to see the diversity of fish that live there” (Hudson 2017a). These and other programs help Haida students connect to their heritage and culture and develop and strengthen a positive mindset towards their Haida identity.

5.7

“That Which Makes Us Haida”: The Haida Language

Language is a powerful tool for empowerment and wellbeing and a fundamental part of cultural heritage as demonstrated earlier. For the Haida, their language is a way of expressing their unique culture and way of life. Language is also a reflection of the complexity of the people’s surrounding and living world, and intimately connected

82 Angus Wilson and Joanne Yovanovich have compiled a timeline of educational programs (SD50 2012, 10–14). 83 School District No. 50 Haida Gwaii includes the communities of Masset, Skidegate, Sandspit and Port Clements, and comprises four elementary and two secondary schools, and 500 students and staff (SD50 2020).

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Fig. 5.12 Bilingual road signs in Skidegate. (Photos by Susemihl)

to cultural heritage and the site of Gwaii Haanas. There are 10,000 shades of nuance and interpretation of landscape features, and a Haida glossary dedicates three pages to words and expressions for rain. Thanks to personal engagement, language programs and other endeavours, the Haida language is becoming stronger today and finds its way into everyday use. It is visible on street signs, for example (see Fig. 5.12), and brochures of heritage sites include Haida vocabulary. For the Haida, the connection to their cultural and natural heritage is important in this process of language revival and the World Heritage site of SGang Gwaii and Gwaii Haanas play an important role in the process.

5.7.1

Language Is at the Heart of a Culture

The ancestral language of the Haida people is Haida. Once, it had more than 30 different dialects. Today, the Haida language, like most other Indigenous languages of British Columbia, is in a perilous state and considered highly endangered. While a hundred years ago all Haida were fluent in their Native tongue, today the number of speakers has decreased to no more than three or four dozen, and nearly all these speakers are over the age of 70. On Haida Gwaii, there are about 20 fluent speakers left (ANL 2018; Hume 2014; Lachler 2012). While there is only a single Haida language, there are noticeable dialectal differences between communities, the greatest being that between the Southern Haida dialect, Xaayda Kíl, as spoken in Skidegate, and the Northern Haida dialect, Xaad Kíl, as spoken in Masset and in Hydaburg, Alaska.84 For the most part, these differences are largely a matter of pronunciation and, to some extent, vocabulary, while most of the grammatical rules are relatively constant across all dialects (Lachler 2010, 2012).

84 Glossaries for the dialects are available at Old Masset Haida Language - Xaad Kíl, http://xaad-kil. blogspot.ca, and Skidegate Haida Language - Xaayda Kíl, http://xaayda-kil.blogspot.ca; Lachler (2010) provided “A Dictionary of Alaskan Haida” at http://www.sealaskaheritage.org/sites/default/ files/haida_dictionary_web.pdf

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As the Haida language does not have any demonstrable genetic relationship to any other language, it is regarded a language isolate85 unique to the people of Haida Gwaii and southern Alaska by most linguists, as Barbara Wilson explains: A language needs two thousand years of isolation to be an isolate. I’m [. . .] looking at how the land was and how it was sixteen thousand years ago. Then came the tide, the ice melted, and in between – that’s sixteen to twenty thousand years – cedar trees were starting to grow on the land, and [. . .] 4,000 years ago, they were big enough so that they could be made into ocean going canoes. We finally were able to cross and go to these places that we remember in stories. Then our language became an isolate, because we are off the coast for three or four thousand years without any influence of anyone else (Interview with Wilson 2011).

With colonialism, diseases and residential schools, large parts of the language were lost, though, and Wilson continues: “We went from [. . .] 30,000 people living all over the islands to less than 600. It’s taking my library. Say I have 30,000 books in here, different stages of writing, and the library burns down, and less than 600 manuscripts survive. Try to put it back together again” (Interview with Wilson 2011). Putting this ‘language library’ together again has been a long and strenuous process and a tremendous effort for the Haida people. While many have called Indigenous languages extinct, in a critical state, dead or dying, the people on Haida Gwaii are revitalizing Xaad kil/Xaayda kil (Gilpin 2018). There is a strong interest among many young Haida to learn their ancestral language and use it once again on a daily basis. In this regard, the two communities of Skidegate and Old Masset have each initiated substantial programs to not only save and record their dialects, but to keep the language alive through immersion instruction. Elder Diane Brown, one of the archipelago’s language advocates who started to teach Haida in schools in the 1970s, states: “The language was dying before me. The Elders would say, ‘What will we call ourselves, if we don’t speak Haida? Who is going to talk to the ancestors?’” (Brown, quoted in Porter 2017). This close connection to ancestral heritage has been a strong proponent for language revitalization. Learning and reviving a language is, first and foremost, a personal quest. Many Haida started this quest decades ago, and their journey of learning and building their knowledge base continues. Wilson herself does not speak fluent Haida, but her father was fluent in Haida and English. She remembers: “My father passed away in 2009, and he was fluent, but he was also fluent in English, because he also went to residential school. But he had a lot longer on the land, and he had his grandfather and people to speak to at that time” (Interview with Wilson). In this respect, Wilson stresses the connection to the land that is essential in mastering the Haida language (see interview excerpt in Box 5.2).

85

This theory is not universally accepted. Enrico (2004) argues that Haida belongs to the Na-Dené family; early loanwords, however, make this evidence problematic. See also: Enrico 1979, 1980, 2003; Lawrence 1977.

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Box 5.2: Barbara Wilson, “Building a Knowledge Base” I was shipped off. I had four brothers; we were all shipped off, with several other people. Now it’s almost humorous. People come to us, constantly asking about traditional knowledge, about old stories, asking why we don’t, why we don’t. And since the 1800s, we’ve been forbidden to speak our language, to do all these things. Now everybody wants us to speak our language, do our ceremonies. Well, I’m not trying to be rude about it, but we are six, seven, eight, nine generations down the road, now you want us to remember our stories, talk our language, and do our ceremonies [. . .]. I was gone for twelve years. When I came back, I had been living across Canada, and I started asking questions, because my mother didn’t have any answers for me. She would point me to old people in the village and say, go and speak to so and so and ask this kind of question. I would go around the village and ask questions, and they would give me answers. Sometimes they didn’t know. That’s how I started building my knowledge base. Then with this job, which I got in 1989 – well, not this job particularly, but when I started with Parks Canada – I began to read. You can see [she is pointing to the hundreds of books in her office], I read all the time. That’s my job. I read and I write. I write about the culture as it would be if it was intact. I use stories; I do research (Interview with Wilson 2011). In order to gather information about their forefathers’ way of life, the Haida are using Western anthropological studies like those of the ethnographer John R. Swanton,86 who published on Haida mythology, ethnology and language (1905a, b, 1908), as Wilson states: He is amazing. Considering he spent not even a year here, he gathered some absolutely incredibly valuable stuff. And he didn’t spend a lot of time reinterpreting things, so that I trust his stuff. I use his books all the time, because it’s as close as I’m going to get to my ancestors. [. . .] It’s the best we can have, when you look at [. . .] a hundred and fifty years of being subjugated to not knowing and not being allowed to do it (Interview with Wilson 2011).

Like many Indigenous people, the Haida rely on White anthropologists to learn more about their traditional culture and language, which helps them to strengthen their own capacities. At the same time, however, it caters to the ‘authorized heritage discourse’ because these White ‘experts’ have filtered and sometimes interpreted their ‘observations’ (Smith 2006). In the process of revitalizing traditional cultures that Indigenous people have carefully preserved and protected, language necessarily lies at the heart of these efforts. Yet, for every community, language revitalization looks different. Support 86

The American anthropologist and linguist John R. Swanton (1873–1958) compiled village house lists from survivors on Masset from 1900 to 1901 and collected traditional stories (Swanton 1905a, b, 1908).

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for language programs and projects in British Columbia comes, to a large extent, from the First Peoples’ Cultural Council (FPCC), which works with language experts from each community to determine what approaches work best for their language objectives.87 In 2018, the provincial government committed CAD 50 million towards protecting Indigenous languages, some of which went towards supporting initiatives in Haida Gwaii (Gilpin 2018). The Haida language efforts are also documented in the publication That Which Makes us Haida: The Haida Language (Steedman and Collison 2011), which touches on the unique history of the Haida language, coming with a CD including Haida stories and songs, and profiles Elders who share some of their stories and experiences. Haida author Nika Collison writes in her opening statement that Xaayda kil/Xaad kil is not just a language, but a different way of thinking: “It is Haida knowledge, history and wisdom stored. It defines our intrinsic relationship to the lands, waters, airways and Supernatural Beings of Haida Gwaii: that which makes us Haida” (quoted in Davy 2021, 65; see also Steedman and Collison 2011). The book is an attempt to document stories and struggles and honour those who have worked to keep the Haida language alive. It is a testament to their service and a “powerful part of how the heart of the Haida language beats” (Gilpin 2018).

5.7.2

Teaching the Haida Language

Teaching the Haida language is not easy and calls for strong connections to culture and land, requiring a different mindset than English. Maureen LaGroix, who has been teaching the language since 1982 and who spent some years learning a Haida writing system developed by linguist John Enrico (1979, 1980, 1995, 2005), stresses that it does not make sense to translate English into Haida. She explains: “It’s not working [. . .] You spend most of your time trying to figure out what all the terms are to make it Haida, and you run out of time. Our language is so different” (LaGroix, quoted in Gilpin 2018). Language immersion is generally seen as the best approach to teaching Haida, utilizing a methodology relevant to one’s daily life. The language needs to be used with what people are doing; it has to become a part of people’s natural environment. When the Haida would travel to different places throughout the changing seasons, gathering fish or harvesting food, the specific words were applied, explains LaGroix: “It was a living spoken language. When they took away those fish camps, where all the families worked together to get things done, they lost a lot of the family unit, but they also lost a lot of the connection to everyday language” (LaGroix, quoted in Gilpin 2018). The language has to have meaning, otherwise people will forget it. Now the meaning needs to be brought back.

87 The First Peoples’ Cultural Council (FPCC) is a First Nations-run Crown Corporation responsible for distributing funds to support the 34 Indigenous languages in British Columbia (Gilpin 2018).

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A major Haida language revitalizing project is the Skidegate Haida Immersion Program (SHIP). It was founded in 1998, after a ten-day Skidegate Haida Immersion Summer Session, with more than 40 students and 16 teachers, fluent in Haida. Since then, SHIP has grown into a viable community program, attracting new students every year. The goal of SHIP is to preserve and revitalize the Skidegate Haida Dialect and to have it, once again, become the language spoken in the households of Skidegate. Future generations of Haida people shall be able to speak the Haida language and pass their language on to their children. The focus is, thus, not only on preserving, but on reviving the language (CHN 2018, SHIP; SBC 2014, SHIP). The SHIP program is based at Iitl’lxid Naay (the House of Chiefs) in Skidegate (see Figs. 5.13 and 5.14). Elders and participants have been recording the Skidegate Haida language, developed a working alphabet for the Skidegate dialect, compiled a glossary of more than 11,000 words and produced over 120 instructional CDs for use in the program, in schools and at home. Elders were also video documented telling Haida legends and myths. Funding is administered through the Skidegate Band Council, the school district and various grants, but the majority of the time and energy dedicated to the program has been entirely voluntary. Today, the program is home to nine fluent speakers who instruct on a rotational basis. Participants are welcome for part- and full-time classes, or to drop in and attend whenever possible (Interview with Wilson 2011; CHN 2018, SHIP; Gilpin 2018). Learning and reviving a language means entering many fields. In that respect, the class is working on prayer projects, cook books and even a flirtation project – on ‘flirty Fridays’, sessions are all about flirting in Haida. Participants are translating stories and songs from the Masset dialect into the Skidegate dialect and have helped reinstate Haida traditional knowledge to be used in the Haida title case launched in 2002. They also do a lot of documentation work and have translation requests from the community and the Nation. They participate in many community events and are often asked to contribute to research into Haida traditions and names. They also develop maps as important locators of their culture. For this, Elders circumnavigated Gwaii Haanas on a sailboat for 14 days, during which they remembered travelling

Figs. 5.13 and 5.14 Skidegate Haida Language School, and the Skidegate Haida Immersion Program. (Photos by Susemihl)

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their territories as children, recalling traditional place names and recording them on new maps of their territories. This activity of renaming and ‘reclaiming’ their land (Gilpin 2018) was paid for by Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve and Parks Canada and served as an important step of empowerment. The unique Skidegate Haida Immersion Program is much more than a conventional language class, though, as learning and living a language means living a culture. The program brings people together, experiencing a cultural connection to their heritage. Once a week, lunch is served at SHIP, and a team of volunteers prepares, cooks and serves the food, welcoming community members to come by and share. As such, the SHIP program “is well known and loved in the community. Visitors often drop in to share news, see what’s going on with the Elders and lend a hand in any way possible” (Gilpin 2018). The program also takes care of the community’s Elders, as Billy Yovanovich, chief of the Skidegate Band Council, stresses, as “it gives them a place to go, keeps them active [. . .] and gives them something to focus their time and intention on” (Yovanovich, quoted in Gilpin 2018). Thanks to collaboration with many partners, the Elders even went on a trip to Hawaii, where they visited Hawaiian language schools and studied different approaches of teaching a language (Gilpin 2018). As a result, SHIP maintains a high profile among community members and organizations such as Gwaii Haanas National Park and Haida Heritage Site, Haida Gwaii Museum and the School District. Regularly, they send a representative to First Nations Language conferences to learn new methodologies of language preservation and revitalization and to share with other programs what they have found to be working well at the community (CHN 2018, SHIP). Also, some who previously had never thought that they could learn to speak Haida have become an inspiration to others. Kevin Borserio, a non-Haida who has been working with the program since the beginning, has become semi-fluent in the Skidegate dialect and describes his fascination for the language of the Elders as follows: “Their language is a sound of beauty. It conveys deep and vivid connections to the earth, her people, the ocean and all creatures” (Borserio, quoted in Gilpin 2018). Another language program that has been running well for the Haida is the Mentor-Apprentice Program.88 It matches fluent speakers with learners for a oneto-one immersion experience at home and on the land over a number of years. A ‘mentor’ (a fluent speaker of a language) is paired with an ‘apprentice’ (learner), and they spend 300 hours per year together doing everyday activities using the language at all times. In this program, learners become more fluent, which is especially valuable for languages where only a couple of fluent speakers are left. In 2017, the 88

The Mentor-Apprentice Program (MAP), originally called the Master-Apprentice Language Learning Program, was first developed for Native American languages in California, on the basis of a suggestion by Julian Lang, a Karuk speaker, and initially created by Leanne Hinton and others (Hinton 2001), but can be used to learn any language. The FPCC started a B.C. MAP in 2008 with 12 teams from 11 different B.C. languages. The goal for each team was to complete 900 hours of immersion in their language (3 years of 300 hours per year). These 12 teams showed great success and all of the apprentices became more fluent in their languages (FPCC 2021).

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Haida Gwaii Mentor-Apprentice Committee was born. While the first session accepted three people from Masset and three from Skidegate, in 2018, there was an influx of applicants. To make the language accessible to all people who want to learn it, the program was altered to be a semester program not on a one-to-one basis, but two to three language learners now work with one master (Gilpin 2018). Additionally, there are also language classes at school. The language program at Chief Matthews School in Old Masset, taught by Kaayhlt’aa Xuhl (Rhonda) Bell, one of the youngest fluent speakers in Gaw (Old Masset), is only one example. Recently, the Integrated Resource Package, a compilation of instruction and resources for teachers implementing Haida language classes into their curriculum, has been approved by the government. Haida language education will now be implemented in all schools on Haida Gwaii. In addition to Haida language classes, those interested in learning the language can access online resources, like the Skidegate Haida Language App, and classes offered at Simon Fraser University in Vancouver, including a postgraduate program in language revitalization. People in the community can work towards a language proficiency certificate or choose to participate in one of the language nest programs in which young families learn in an immersive setting together – there are multiple avenues available for those who want to learn (SBC 2014).

5.7.3

Edge of the Knife: Revival of Language through Film

Others have taken a somewhat different approach to preserving and sharing the Haida language, outside of classrooms and organized programs, using film. As an accessible medium that translates traditional values and stories, it can be considered an ‘electronic storytelling’ device (Knopf 2009; Susemihl 2011a, b). Stories, again, illustrate the interconnectedness of language and culture,89 revealing how discourses are at once socially-situated and grammatically-driven (see Gumperz 1982; Rose 2005; Sherzer 1983). Stories delivered through film are, thus, a great means of coupling linguistic instruction with social and cultural knowledge. Aiming to preserve and teach the Haida language, the brothers Gwaai and Jaalen Edenshaw, Graham Richard and Leonie Sandercock, with input from Haida Gwaii residents, wrote the screenplay to a film in 2015. Its product is the first full-length feature film spoken in the Haida language, Sgaawaay K’uuna – Edge of the Knife (2018), co-directed by the Haida filmmaker Gwaai Edenshaw and Tsilhqot’in filmmaker Helen Haig-Brown.90 Set in nineteenth-century Haida Gwaii, it tells the 89

Finney (2017) examined the Masset Haida story Ihldiinii, as told by Sandlenee (Emma Matthews) to Marianne Ignace in 1979 (see Swanton, 1908, for an earlier version). 90 The film Sgaawaay K’uuna – Edge of the Knife (2018, dir. Gwaai Edenshaw and Helen HaigBrown, 93 min.) is a collaboration between the Haida Nation and producer Jonathan Frantz, who works for the Inuit film company Kingulliit Productions. Frantz has also worked closely with Inuit director Zacharias Kunuk, who made his name with the critically acclaimed film Atanarjuat: The

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Haida story of a traumatized and stranded man transformed into Gaagiixiid, the ‘wildman’. The film was created primarily by Indigenous people, including the co-directors, a mostly amateur crew and the Haida cast. The script was translated into the two remaining dialects of the language, Xaad Kil and Xaayda Kil. As none of the actors were conversant in either dialect, however, they received lessons on Haida pronunciation from fluent speakers throughout a training period and the five weeks of filming to learn their lines. The costumes and props were also made on the islands. Local builders constructed a long house on the site of an old traditional village where the film was shot, weavers made the costumes, and a Haida artist tattooed clan crests on the chests and arms of willing actors in traditional stick-andpoke fashion. Also, the local musician Vern Williams was hired to create songs for the film (Gilpin 2018; Porter 2017). Contributors to the film’s budget of CAD 1,890,000 include the Council of the Haida Nation, the Canada Media Fund and Telefilm Canada (Lederman 2017b; Sandercock 2018; Takeuchi 2017). Overall, the film is a good example of the three Haida communities in Masset, Skidegate and Alaska coming together with a common goal that provides a powerful message for their children and coming generations: to have access to a film entirely in their language. It allowed the Haida to communicate their own story in their own language, as Gwaai Edenshaw explains: “It’s not outsiders coming in and telling our story; it’ll be a chance for us to be telling our own story” (quoted in Gilpin 2018). Connecting the people to their culture, language and heritage, the film serves as a teaching tool and a strong artistic expression of Haida awareness and empowerment. At Haida Gwaii, Xaad Kil/Xaayda Kil is not extinct and not dying. Through different language programs, especially the Skidegate Haida Immersion Program, a program of healing and awareness, the Haida gain cultural and spiritual awareness and pass on their traditional knowledge to Indigenous and non-Indigenous people. Connecting Elders to teachers and state-of-the-art technology, the Haida’s approach to language revitalization sets an example for Indigenous communities worldwide. The Haida use many tools available to cradle the gifts of their fluent, semi-fluent and silent speakers (those who understand, but don’t speak the language), and pass them on to the next generations. Gwaii Edenshaw (quoted in Porter 2017) states: “The secrets of who we are are [sic] wrapped up in our language. It’s how we think, how we label our world around us. It’s also a resistance to what was imposed on us.” In “keeping something very precious alive” by speaking their language,” as Jaskwaan Amanda Bedard (quoted in Jenni et al. 2017, 31) states, the Haida have been using their language as intangible heritage for empowerment, capacity building and community development.

Fast Runner (2001, dir. Zacharias Kunuk, 174 min.), depicting an Inuit folk epic and staring untrained Inuit actors speaking their traditional language, Inuktitut (Gilpin 2018; Huhndorf 2003; Knopf 2008, 2009; Susemihl 2011a, b).

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“Equals on All Levels”: A Way into the Future

In the past decades, the Haida have come a long way towards self-determination. They gained strength and recognition, and their heritage has been a strong tool in this struggle. Many questions and challenges remain, however, and it is only a start on the road to reconciliation. The history of Gwaii Haanas stands to carry its legacy of hope and collaboration forward for generations to come. The question of the future of SGang Gwaay needs to be answered, however, along with questions concerning reconciliation. Reaching true equality within Parks Canada is a goal of the Haida. Gwaii Haanas has been built on balanced relationships between the Haida Nation and the Canadian government that overcame conflict and disagreement. Balanced relationships that rely on respect, collaboration and communication are also necessary for the ongoing success. Long-term sustainability and success of tourism in Gwaii Haanas require “these ongoing relationships and connections with the communities to be maintained and for new ones to evolve” (Elliott 2017, 74). One way to build new relationships is involving youth in decision making processes, which gives them a voice in shaping the future of their communities. First and foremost, however, it requires reconciliation and an understanding for the importance of Haida heritage for its people.

5.8.1

Haida Empowerment and Community Development through World Heritage

SGang Gwaay was designated a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1981 and Gwaii Haanas’ designation will probably follow within the next years. After decades of building communication, understanding and compromises, the Council of the Haida Nation and Parks Canada have formed a solid working foundation. Even though the UNESCO label does not bring any financial benefits, and many visitors are unaware of it, for many Haida it still makes “a big difference” as it “brings awareness, internationally, credibility, reassurance and authenticity” to SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas (Interview with Alsop 2011). The co-management agreement for Gwaii Haanas successfully provides the framework for governance that facilitates cultural and ecological conservation while supporting responsible nature-based and cultural tourism that feeds back into the communities of Haida Gwaii (see Table 5.2). In that regard, the management plans (AMB 2003; 2010; 2018) identify goals, strategies and expected results, including the protection and presentation of the natural and cultural heritage, the sustaining of the continuity of Haida culture, the management of visitor use and environmental responsibilities. There are many successes and strengths of the Gwaii Haanas Agreement (1993) and the power sharing relationship that it governs (Elliott 2017, 64–65). Physical and socio-cultural boundaries are also defined for Gwaii Haanas. Moreover, the AMB has been able to work together to create and manage

←

↓

Tangible Heritage remains of totem poles and longhouses, artefacts such as tools and instruments, boxes, masks, other carvings, etc.

↓

↓

Title to the land unsolved Gwaii Haanas Agreement (1993) Kunst’aa Guu – Kunst’aayah Reconciliation Protocol (2009)

Ownership

↓

↓

(natural and cultural significance: remains of totem poles, Haida culture, biodiversity land and sea)

Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve, National Marine Conservation Area Reserve, and Haida Heritage Site (including SGang Gwaay)

→

• Haida Enterprise Corporation (HaiCo); Taan Forest • jobs as tour operators, Haida Gwaii Watchmen, at Haida Heritage Centre • sales of arts and crafts

• 3 Haida seats at AMB • Solutions Table • political position of Haida has influence on management of WHS • concern for heritage caused changes in community structures

Cultural Development and Benefits • Haida Gwaii Watchmen • Repatriation

Social Development and Benefits • Haida Gwaii Watchmen • local self-esteem and community pride

• Haida Gwaii Watchmen • Rediscovery Camps • Skidegate Haida Immersion Program (SHIP) • Forest Stewardship Program • Outdoor Education Programs at Schools

Community Learning and Education

Haida Empowerment, Capacity Building and Community Development

↓

↔

↙↘

Intangible Heritage Haida language, stories, songs, crests, traditions, customs, ceremonies and activities such as fishing, hunting, berry picking, carving, potlatch, etc.

(Haida Gwaii, British Columbia)

SGang Gwaii and Gwaii Haanas

Haida Heritage Centre and Haida Gwaii Museum (exhibitions and displays, films, programs, tours and guides, workshops, courses)

logging fishing hunting

Resource Management

Economic Development and Benefits

and

Political and Organizational Development

Public Perception wilderness, wildlife, Indigenous culture

↓

2,000 visitors annually; seasonal; benefits for Haida communities (economic, cultural, social)

Tourism

Designations UNESCO World Heritage (1981); Haida Heritage Site (1985); National Marine Conservation Area Reserve (2010) ↓

Table 5.2 Indigenous empowerment and community development through World Heritage: SGang Gwaii and Gwaii Haanas

Operation and Management

• physical, mental, social, and spiritual health • relationship with the land and sea • self-identification through traditional culture • reconciliation

Spiritual Development/ Community Wellbeing

Conservation and Protection CHN, Parks Canada, UNESCO

↓

Cooperative management: Archipelago Management Board (AMB) Gwaii Haanas Gina ‘Waadlux̲an KilG̲ulhG̲a Land-SeaPeople Plan (2018)

and

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numerous successful programs concerning preservation and protection of the environment, tourism and education. While both the ABM and the agreement are flexible, a consensus-based co-management arrangement takes time for decision making and in applying conflict resolution processes. And although there are disagreements over title and sovereignty, they remain outside the Gwaii Haanas agreement and do not distract the AMB from their task of managing the heritage site. Haida involvement in the management, protection and conservation of the World Heritage site of SGang Gwaii and Gwaii Haanas has led to various benefits. Community empowerment and development occurs through governance, community control, organizational structures, representation, programs and services, resources, policy frameworks and control of mixed economies. Politically, the Haida have reached a strong position on the islands; their voice is heard and there are no decisions made without their input. Due to their political situation, Haida involvement and participation in the management and control of Gwaii Haanas is strong. Although the Haida had never signed historical treaties with the Canadian government, as the Blackfoot did, there is a long-standing disagreement in respect of who owns Haida Gwaii. This has been recognized in the Kunst’aa Guu – Kunst’aayah Reconciliation Protocol of 2009, which outlines a process to reconcile Haida and Crown titles. Operating under their respective authorities and jurisdiction, the parties agreed to focus on joint decision-making respecting lands and natural resources and other collaborative arrangements including socio-economic matters pertaining to children and families. Acknowledging their differing views with regard to sovereignty, title, ownership and jurisdiction over Haida Gwaii, both parties have been managing and controlling Gwaii Haanas for years cooperatively, improving the socio-economic situation for both the Indigenous and non-Indigenous population. Alongside this, new protected areas were established, providing a framework for British Columbia-Haida Nation decision-making for the terrestrial area outside of Gwaii Haanas (AMB 2018, 11). Community economic development through heritage is strong, with direct and indirect benefits as a result of Gwaii Haanas. The Haida have established employment within the heritage and tourism business, as operators, Watchmen or at Parks Canada, helping to preserve their heritage and educate visitors about it. With growing tourism, there are also increasing opportunities for local businesses and employment that support the tourism industry. Many services and tourism related jobs, even though they are seasonal, bring cash into the community and build capacity and skills. Furthermore, a strong sense of community amongst the tourism operators and Haida Watchmen has developed that extends beyond the boundaries of Gwaii Haanas to the people involved in tourism related organizations and companies. Through this Gwaii Haanas-centred community, various existing social networks and connections are strengthened and new ones are developed, increasing a sense of belonging and connecting to place (Elliott 2017, 73). However, both of the Haida communities are not, yet, as involved in accommodation, food services and visitor information as the other communities on Haida Gwaii. Programs such as the Gwaii Trust, which provides funding for island-based projects, and the Haida Owned and Operated initiative support the founding of Haida-owned companies.

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This reflects the economic shift away from the extractive resource sector and diversification into tourism, taking advantage of the existing ‘natural capital’ of Haida Gwaii. Although service and tourism industry jobs tend to pay less than the resource extraction jobs of the past, making it a difficult change for many Haida, they support this development and assent to playing multiple roles within their communities (ibid., 69–70). On a cultural level (as shown in Table 5.2.) the Haida have started many programs revising and preserving their culture, such as language programs and youth camps. The Haida Heritage Centre has become a gateway for experiencing and learning about Haida culture. Tourists are invited to participate in events such as pole raisings, and at the Haida Gwaii Museum and through the Haida Gwaii Watchmen program the Haida proudly present their stories and their heritage to the visitors. Furthermore, the Haida have started to provide access to the park with their own tour operations. For them, it has been a source of consternation that for many decades, tourists were usually guided by non-Indigenous tour guides. This is one of many fields in which Indigenous cultural awareness and education still needs to be developed. Socially, the Haida have been aiming to establish a healthy society, educating their children in traditional ways and supporting all generations. Heritage sites play an important role in this effort. Many spin-offs in tourism in Gwaii Haanas affect the communities of Haida Gwaii, and education and training, community pride and community building all come as a result of Gwaii Haanas tourism. Thus, Watchmen receive training in cultural interpretation, wilderness first aid, boat driving and maintenance prior to beginning their postings in Gwaii Haanas. These and other skills that they learn along the way are important to the job but also contribute to the overall skill level of the community and increase the capacity and capability of the community and its members. Community pride and self esteem is also built by having visitors come to see their traditional homeland. The sense of community seems to be particularly strong at Haida Gwaii. Working together, focussing on common goals, and bringing people together are constant processes throughout education, health and employment. Many of the aforementioned benefits go hand in hand with community learning and education as well as with spiritual development and community wellbeing. The strong cultural education ethos of Gwaii Haanas promotes respect and understanding of Haida culture amongst visitors and residents alike, spilling out of the protected area and into the communities. Haida Watchmen, trip leaders and wilderness guides that operate within Gwaii Haanas are trained to educate their visitors about the local natural and cultural history. Through education there is an increase in support for the conservation and documentation of cultural knowledge, language and artifacts, reinforced by the Haida Heritage Centre and the Skidegate Haida Immersion Program. Likewise, Haida is taught in the schools on Haida Gwaii, and the language and culture are alive and evolving. Although tourism within Gwaii Haanas is not responsible for the success of either initiative, cultural education that comes as part of tourism contributes positively to the overall success of the programs. Also,

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Gwaii Haanas tourism operators make good use of the Centre, helping to keep its doors open and its staff employed. A challenge for the Haida and the AMB is keeping the balance between education and entertainment at the World Heritage site. There is always the possibility of damage to cultural resources, artifacts and culturally sensitive areas through unawareness and lack of knowledge, and education is the best way to manage and mitigate this damage. Heritage and land are also issues in the Haida classroom and at camps where youth acquires wisdom and knowledge from Elders. Physical, mental, social and spiritual health of the people is connected to heritage, expressed in programs connected to Gwaii Haanas, and a strong relationship with the land is established. Identification and healing through traditional culture is aimed at, acknowledging that gina ‘waadluuxan gud ad kwagid – “everything depends on everything else”.

5.8.2

“Making Things Right”: Reconciliation and Resolutions for Resources

Cooperative management of Gwaii Haanas has been an enormous step on the road of reconciliation and certainly “deescalated tensions” among the islands, according to Jason Alsop (2018). However, it was still a compromise for many Haida who had different visions of what cooperation might permanently look like. In his study, Reconciliation in Action (2018), Alsop explores Haida perspectives of the AMB’s effectiveness to develop strategies for Haida hiring and training at Gwaii Haanas. While previous evaluations have focused on the success of the Gwaii Haanas model from the perspective of the AMB, they failed to adequately include Haida voices. He also evaluates Haida employment and economic opportunities outlined in the Gwaii Haanas Agreement. While co-management successfully put an end to land destruction and created opportunities and jobs for the Haida, according to Alsop, there are still a number of barriers for Haida employment. He, therefore, criticizes that the promise of employment for Haida on Gwaii Haanas has not been met due to an “intimidating” and “flawed” hiring process. Also, some Haida “aren’t ready to work for the Government of Canada, even in this co-management environment” (Alsop, quoted in Weighton 2018). Alsop states: Looking back at Gwaii Haanas [. . .] allows us to look at current hiring process in Parks Canada and work with colleagues on how we can improve that so it’s more attractive to Haida people so they feel comfortable and not intimidated. [. . .] In this broader conversation on reconciliation, it’s imperative that we’re able to protect our territories in a way that we have decision-making authority on the ground, and we’re in a position where we’re equals at all levels (Alsop, quoted in Weighton 2018).

For Alsop creating a platform for Haida people to really be heard is critical for reconciliation. He, therefore, wants to maximize employment opportunities for Haida people and declares that a more vigorous community evaluation process is

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needed. This includes consulting more directly with the community while helping to map out future priorities of the AMB. Currently, Alsop is working with the park’s management board to create solutions and bring more Haida to work on the protected islands in Haida traditional territory. Another major step in the process of reconciliation is the overcoming of tensions. Colonial oppression and political structures that were forced upon the Indigenous people have left their traces and created tensions within the Haida community, as Barbara Wilson points out: I think everybody remembers who they are; everybody knows where they come from. The Band Council is an institution that has been put upon all First Nations who are recognized as Status Indians in Canada. That’s a government thing. As a matter of fact, the elected chief-incouncils were put in place to displace the hereditary leaders. It was a deliberate decision to remove the power from hereditary leaders by the government (Interview with Wilson 2011).

The Haida have been trying to overcome these tensions, and fighting for land and traditional rights has bound the people together, as Wilson emphasizes: “I think we work best when under siege [. . .] you just have to think and move and stay together [. . .], having a cause is really important. If you know how to stay focused, you get things done” (Interview with Wilson 2011). Their commitment and dedication throughout their political struggles have given them strength, as Wilson emphasizes while remembering the struggles of the 1980s: It wasn’t just this little group of people who were on the line; it was the grandmothers, aunties, mothers, the fathers, brothers and sisters, who did penny drives, who had lunch sales, who donated songs or drawings or whatever to raise money. And when we were doing that, the outside world saw what we were doing and what we were prepared to do in order to save a piece of land [. . .] If you work from a place where you have nothing to lose you have everything to gain. It takes people like Guujaaw91 [. . .] who are ready [. . .] to go to jail. If you are prepared to give up your freedom for the land of your people, can you argue with that (Interview with Wilson 2011)?

While the Haida have been visible and powerful in their fight for self-determination and empowerment, there are still tensions between the Haida and the non-Indigenous communities on the islands, as Richardson confirms: I don’t have a problem having superficial relationships with a lot of these people, but they are not deep, because there is always that tension [. . .] In my position in this house I keep people right there, I don’t let them into that sacred place, because at the end of the day we will have to make really tough decisions and I don’t want my heart to get involved [. . .] I don’t imagine it is any different from the other side. It gets really nasty sometimes; it’s not physical, it’s verbal, it’s abusive, and destructive, and that goes both ways (Interview with Richardson 2011).

A strong and honest relationship between the Haida Nation and the Government of Canada is fundamental to the success of Gwaii Haanas. In that regard, the AMB’s experience of cooperative management provides “an example of reconciliation in

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Guujaaw was president of the Council of Haida Nation from 1999 to 2012.

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action that links to broader governance and reconciliation efforts on Haida Gwaii” (AMB 2018, 14). Nevertheless, the Haida are still “under the Indian Act” and under somebody else’s authority, which also makes cooperation difficult, according to Richardson: The basic concept of us being under somebody else’s authority, a foreign government’s authority whose whole mandate it was to take the spirit and soul of our people through these different regimes – one of them was residential school, one of them Indian and Northern Affairs Canada; we were not valued; we had no value. Our economy was taken away; our drive was beat and taken out of us. – What’s our issue now is to try and instill that desire to move forward and be successful [. . .]. Just the desire to get up in the morning and thrive and strive for your goals – that’s a big problem that we have to overcome. Then we need to have the resources to continue to move our people forward – the resources to help us get to those places where we want to go. These pittances that we get from Canada are very small compared to the value that has been generated off from our homelands (Interview with Richardson 2011).

The Haida have identified the education and health of their people as the most pressing and important issues for the next decade, “because as long as we are wards of the government, they have control of how much money we get and can put into our health and into our education” (Interview with Wilson 2011). The way to reconciliation, however, is long and challenging, as Wilson points out (see Box 5.3). Indeed, true reconciliation calls for the Haida maintaining control over their lands’ resources, benefitting from employment and sales profits, and combining the protection, development and use of their traditional lands, waters and heritage. Box 5.3: Barbara Wilson, “The Honorable Way of Making Things Right” Geneviève Susemihl (GS): What would happen if the government gives you title to the land? Barbara Wilson (BW): If it was up to me [. . .] I’d say, okay, because you have got taxes from my land for the last 75 years, and you have removed all the resources along with the recognition that this indeed is my land, you have to compensate me for what has been removed. [. . .] They would say, okay, from now until whenever, [. . .] every year we will put x number of dollars with interest into your bank, and that will assist you in rehabilitating your land and your people. After x number of years, our trees will be growing, the deer will be under control, the beaver will be removed, the muskrat will be gone – all these things will be gone that have been put on our land, then our affiliation will be by choice, and it will be determined through negotiations [. . .]. GS: I understand, but how long am I responsible for what happened in the past? BW: Here is a question for you: If you look at these islands and you figure that the trees that have been taken off these islands could probably go around the world seven times. The fish that have been taken from our waters have just about as much value. If you were in my shoes, how much would be enough? I (continued)

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Box 5.3 (continued) can’t say that my great-great-grandchildren don’t deserve to have something. I agree with you that you should be able to get on with your life, too. [. . .] Those things are never going to be settled, unless we can come to a place where we can trust each other and we can believe that it won’t happen again [. . .] If anybody was honorable of making things right [. . .] In the old day, if I had done something to you, and you went home and said, papa, Kii’iljuus took something from me, and you’ll see her wearing it at the next feast, that’s mine, and I want it back. Your family would come to my family and they would say, Kii’iljuus took this from my daughter, and we want compensation, we want things to be made right. Then my family would gather my brothers and sisters together, and my aunts and uncles, and they would say we have to do the honorable thing. For a year or two years we would plan and we’d keep you abreast of what we are doing. At the end of those two years, we would have a big meeting in the guise of a potlatch, and we would sit down. You and I would maybe stand in the front of the room, and I would say to you that I’ve done wrong to you by taking what was yours, and to compensate you for taking that I am going to pay you four times as many or five times as many, whatever that was worth. You can say that’s enough or it’s not enough. And if it’s not enough, I’d have to say, okay, I’m prepared to put in this also, and you would say, okay, that’s enough. We’d have all these people sitting up there listening to us, and when you say, okay, that’s enough, everybody recognizes that I’ve made it right with you and it’s finished. It’s finished. I do whatever I have to do, and then your family, my family and everybody who has witnessed sit down together and eat. Because the process of eating the food is saying that you’re satisfied that we’ve settled, and we’ve done what’s right. People in the outside world don’t do that. GS: But wouldn’t it be easier to just give back to me whatever you took and then that’s it? BW: Sure, but I caused you grief. When you look at our histories, the grief and the hardship that has been brought by people to other people has to be acknowledged, too. It’s not just about the one thing; it’s about the other stuff that goes with it. Making things right is very important, more than just looking at the object. I think that [. . .] if they had taken the time to do the truth and reconciliation prior to doing settlements, so people could have their say and say, this is how it’s affected my life – my children are no longer with me, because our government deems me to be unfit as a mother, or because when I was at school, one of the male teachers abused me, and things like that. If people had an opportunity to vent the hurt and the unworthiness they felt because of something that was done to them by somebody who had more power than them, it would have been better (Interview with Wilson 2011).

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Following the purpose of reconciliation, the Haida Nation signed another landmark agreement with the Governments of British Columbia and Canada aimed at autonomy, the GayGahlda “Changing Tide” Framework for Reconciliation in 2021 (CHN 2021).92 The framework recognizes the Nation’s inherent title and rights across the archipelago of Haida Gwaii and outlines a path that prioritizes negotiation over litigation while saying the two cultures can coexist. Instead of having to prove titles, negotiations will now begin from a place of inherent Haida title and rights, which includes the right to self-government. According to Alsop, “GayGahlda represents an important opportunity to begin the process of Tll Yahda (“making things right”) between the Crown governments and the Haida Nation”, because “by shifting away from the denial politics of the past and moving to a place of truth through acknowledgment of inherent Haida title, a strong foundation for negotiations is established” (Alsop, quoted in Renner 2021, n.p.). The agreement sets negotiation priorities from governance and resources to fair compensation from the Crown for past damages. But it also lays out longer-term issues such environmental issues (including climate change and habitat restoration), social and community health and wellbeing (including education, language, heritage and other culture measures) and economic wellbeing (including resources) (CHN 2021, 9). While title acknowledgment is still limited to the terrestrial area of Haida Gwaii, the framework also commits to continued negotiations over marine management. The framework, however, is not legally binding and it depends on how it will be implemented, which requires putting the emphasis on settler society’s recognition of principles that Indigenous peoples have known and lived for thousands of years (Renner 2021).

5.8.3

“We Are a Part of It”: The Future of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas

The management and use of Gwaii Haanas has achieved many successes. Many studies (e.g., Alsop 2018; Elliott 2017; Wilson 2019) have analysed the current management situation and the development of nature-based and cultural tourism that aligns with the goals of the co-management agreement and positively contributes to the communities of Haida Gwaii. The findings of the research go hand in hand with the LSP Plan for the management of Gwaii Haanas that support responsible and sustainable tourism on Haida Gwaii. One question that remains, however, is how the tangible and intangible cultural artifacts at SGang Gwaay are preserved. The mortuary and memorial poles at SGang Gwaay that were carved in the late nineteenth

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Although the recognition of title is not as strong as it was granted by the highest court to the Tŝilhqot’in Nation in 2014, the Haida Gwaii agreement covers a much larger area than the central B.C. territory of the Tŝilhqot’in and could be used as a model for other First Nations (Renner 2021).

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Fig. 5.15 and 5.16 Remains of totem poles at Skedans, grown over by a tree (right). (Photos by Susemihl)

century are decaying and one day they will be gone. How will that change the status and the attraction of the World Heritage site and other sites (see Figs. 5.15 and 5.16)? The decay is a natural process that was part of village life. The cycle of the poles, coming from nature and returning to it, has been considered part of a living heritage, as Wilson explains: “In old times, they probably would not have been left standing as it would have been a danger in an occupied village” (Interview with Wilson 2011). Older poles would have been “cut to pieces and given away at a potlatch” and the newest chief would commission a new pole as a replacement (ibid.). When the time comes, there might be replicas of the old poles put up or new poles might be commissioned by the Haida Nation and Parks Canada. The spiritual importance of the site, however, is irrespective of any tangible heritage and the poles will not influence the spirit of the place, explains Wilson: The sad thing about SGang Gwaay is that probably in the next twenty years the poles will all be gone, and I’ve asked the question what happens, because I did a paper for UNESCO, and it’s called “Spirit in the Place”, and it’s about the feelings that you get when you go there. [. . .] I maintain that even once the poles are gone, there is still going to be that feeling (Interview with Wilson 2011).

This feeling is shared by many Haida who experience the place, as their stories are inscribed in the landscape. Wilson also remembers a spiritual incident at the site: One of the times when I was there, we were maintaining the tops of the poles, and the last day we were over on this small part of the village, and I had two young people working with me, and one was up clipping the growth out of the top of the cavity, and the other one was holding it, and I was standing on the edge of the ladder. And all of the sudden – it was our last night, our last pole, and it was about eight o’clock in the evening, and it was starting to get a little bit dusky – and all of the sudden I heard the drums play. I said to Ben, “Ben, do you hear?” He said, “Do you mean the drums?” He heard it, too. But we were all Haida, see. And I’ve been there when I have been overtaken by somebody else, I’m sure, and I wailed, I cried out loud, just the most heartbroken cry, just like somebody took over me, a couple of times, it’s quite amazing, it’s a beautiful place (Interview with Wilson 2011)

This story shows that there is a deep spiritual connection between the Haida and their traditional places that they have preserved over generations.

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Consequently, the future of SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas as a heritage site does not depend on the UNESCO designation. While the label is an asset for tourism and, to a certain degree, for Haida empowerment and capacity building, it is not important for identity building and healing, as their heritage does not depend on formal titles. The Haida view the future of the UNESCO designation, therefore, with mixed feelings. While the label “probably brings people from further afield,” tourists might learn “more in the living Haida communities, not from SGang Gwaay”, posits Wilson: “It may not matter, because unless they really put the effort in getting there, which is very expensive, they will get newer poles up here [in Skidegate and Old Masset], and they will interact with Haida on a daily basis. They make it to a feast or a potlatch while they’re here” (ibid.). To many Haida, UNESCO is not of importance, as Richardson states: “To me it’s not a big deal. It’s the Haida that’s a big deal, not UNESCO; UNESCO is just attached to our culture” (Interview with Richardson 2011). Lately, new poles have been carved and erected on Haida Gwaii93 and elsewhere,94 representing Haida legacy and continuity of traditional Haida culture and way of life (see Fig. 5.17). Following traditional protocol in the raising of the poles, these cultural activities have a multitude of benefits that affect the communities, including support for cultural revitalization, education about Haida traditions for visitors and locals, opportunities for artists, cultural pride, international attention and increased tourism.95 For the Haida, it is very special when a pole goes up, as carver Jaalen Edenshaw observed: “It’s such a powerful moment to watch our pole go up. It shows that our way of life is continuing. The world around us is always changing, but the meaning behind of what we do stays the same” (Edenshaw, quoted in Jolley 2013).96 Pole raisings on Haida Gwaii have also drawn hundreds of locals and visitors, and the band council hosted potlatches, inviting everyone who witnessed 93

In 2001, six poles were raised in front of the Haida Heritage Centre, representing six villages in Haida Gwaii, namely Skidegate, Ts’aahl, Cumshewa, Skedans, SGang Gwaay and Tanu. Master carvers Norman Price, Garner Moody, Guujaw, Jim Hart, Tim Boyko and Giitsxaa carved the poles together with apprentices, as it has been done for many generations. The 2013 raising of the Gwaii Haanas Legacy Pole in Hlk’yah GaawGa (Windy Bay) commemorated the 20th anniversary of the Gwaii Haanas Agreement. The legacy pole project took three years and resulted in the first pole raising in over 130 years in south Moresby (Kirkby 2014; PC 2019d). In 2016, the Gud ad Kiigawaay Gyaagang Ngaay (Unity Pole) was raised in Skidegate, symbolizing the unity of the clans from the two villages of Skidegate and Masset. 94 In 2010, the ‘Two Brothers’ pole, carved by Jaalen and Gwaai Edenshaw, was raised in Jasper National Park, Alberta. In 2017, a Reconciliation Totem Pole was raised on UBC’s Point Grey campus, on unceded Musqueam Territory. Commissioned by philanthropist Michael Audain, it is of special significance for the carvers as they address the past, present and future of Canada with regard to the effects of the Indian residential school system. The 55-foot pole was carved by Haida master carvers from an 800-year-old red cedar. Throughout the carving process, the carvers invited survivors, their families and children to hammer thousands of copper nails into the pole to represent the children that died while attending residential schools (Siebert 2017). 95 Sk’aal Ts’iid (James Cowpar), member of the Ts’aahl Clan, states: “We talk about raising totems to tell a story and commemorate relationships. We don’t just raise a totem pole for the visual benefit. That’s an important part of the conversation to have at this site” (Cowpar, quoted in Milam 2017.) 96 See also, the documentary The Gwaii Haanas Legacy Pole, (2013, dir. Nate Jolley, 7 min.).

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Fig. 5.17 Totem pole in Skidegate, carved by Tim Boyko and Jason Goetzinger, raised in 2011 by Wigaanad (Sidney Crosby), Chief of the Naa’yuu’ans, Skidegate Gidins. (Photo by Susemihl)

the event to listen to the carvers speak about the process of creating the pole, and see the songs and dances performed. Poles symbolize a strong connection to Haida heritage which is important in understanding Haida history and life ways, as Wilson explains, referring to the Watchmen: When they get to SGang Gwaay, and they are working there, they understand a lot more, because they are amongst our poles. Up until ten years ago, we didn’t have all these poles out in front here; we didn’t have a lot of the ones that are in the village. I think we had two poles. When I was a little girl we had maybe three or four old poles in the village (Interview with Wilson 2011).

The Haida gain strength through reclaiming their heritage. The renowned Haida artist Robert C. Davidson states in this respect: In reclaiming our culture, we reclaim our identity. We have many threads connecting us to the past. My grandparents’ generation was one of those threads, and when these threads come together, they form a thick rope. It is that thick rope that connects us to our culture and the values that we are reclaiming. We are living in a very powerful time: a time when we know we can determine our own direction. We have the power, the education, the strength, the knowledge to take back the reins. You hold the power to improve our formal education, to bring it back to the land, and to work with us to make it culturally relevant (Robert C. Davidson, quoted in SD50, 2).

The future of Gwaii Haanas seems bright. There is always room for improvement, though, as the Land-Sea-People Plan (2018) indicates. Public awareness and outreach activities are critical to achieving the set goals and visions as well as

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appreciation for Gwaii Haanas. One such goal is an increased awareness of, and connection to, Gwaii Haanas at local, national and international levels. There is room for new ways of sharing and communicating information. Regular telling of Gwaii Haanas stories nurtures a sense of pride, understanding and support for Gwaii Haanas among local and broader audiences. Programs and initiatives such as community events, youth engagement and media relations help to raise Gwaii Haanas’ profile nationally and internationally. Priorities for the next decade include expanding local outreach programs and reaching new audiences in urban centres, increasing the use of social media, and establishing partnerships with other organizations with expertise in communications and outreach (AMB 2018, 24). The Haida are especially aiming for increased participation in Gwaii Haanas outreach and engagement programs, including increased engagement with Haida Gwaii youth. Students, for example, should have the opportunity to visit Gwaii Haanas during their high school years. Today, Gwaii Haanas is featured in different media, and the virtual reach of Gwaii Haanas through websites, social media and virtual tours is increasing. Moreover, multiple factors play into the increase of tourism, including the ongoing management of Gwaii Haanas and increasing awareness of the need for a diversified economy. As the tourism industry continues to grow and expand, operators have indicated that they are open and willing to build new connections within the communities while keeping those that are already in place. Another major goal is advancing the knowledge and understanding of Gwaii Haanas, as it “provides a benchmark for science and human understanding of the land and sea” (AMB 2018, 23). Future research involves documenting traditional knowledge and laws, assessing underwater archaeological sites and advancing understanding of Gwaii Haanas as a linked land-sea-people ecosystem. To advance research that supports decision-making in Gwaii Haanas, among others, Haida traditional knowledge and laws about Gwaii Haanas have been documented and archaeological inventories of five subtidal sites of previous Haida occupation have been completed. Research and monitoring objectives will be achieved by collaborating with government research programs, universities and local organizations. To support and further develop the Gwaii Haanas monitoring program, a comprehensive marine monitoring program will be developed, long-term monitoring programs and datasets will be maintained or improved, new and existing partnerships with the Haida Gwaii Watchmen, tour operators and the fishing industry will be included in monitoring activities, and local monitoring activities will be integrated with regional monitoring initiatives in terms of data sharing (ibid., 22–23). The work to protect, conserve and restore biodiversity and ecosystems in Gwaii Haanas links to broader protected areas management efforts led by the Haida Nation, British Columbia and Canada on Haida Gwaii and in the north Pacific. A key priority of the Haida and the AMB is protecting, conserving and restoring the diversity of species and the ecosystems, populations and communities. The ABM, thus, supports the rebuilding of populations of ecologically and culturally significant species that support Haida culture and an abundant food web, which can be achieved through responsible stewardship of the land and sea. Several tools have been applied in this regard, such as an action plan for species at risk in Gwaii Haanas and the zoning of

Bibliography

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human activities. The main threat to terrestrial ecological integrity in Gwaii Haanas is invasive species, primarily k’aad (deer), kagan (rats) and gwiiguu (raccoons). Over the past decade, major restoration projects have been undertaken.97 Success of efforts to improve ecosystem structure and function, however, depends on collaboration with partners such as the Haida Gwaii Marine Stewardship Group (LSP Plan, 16–17).98 Overall, the Gwaii Haanas ecosystem has supported Haida communities for millennia, and the intimate relationship that the Haida maintain with the terrestrial and marine environment spans countless generations. Always underlying the lessons is a message of respect and recognition of the responsibility to maintain balance in the natural world. The Haida have worked to regain decision-making authority over their land. They will continue to use their heritage and protect it, and strive to set a new framework for the concept of Indigenous World Heritage.

Bibliography Interviews and Personal Communication Alsop, Jason, Operations Manager, Haida Heritage Centre at Kaay Llnagaay, Member of the Council of the Haida Nation, Member of the Gwaii Haanas Archipelago Management Board (AMB), Skidegate, 07 Oct 2011 Dionne, Terrie, Manager, External Relations, Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve, National Marine Conservation Area Reserve, and Haida Heritage Site, Parks Canada, Skidegate, 03 Oct 2011 Gladstone, Ernie, Superintendent, Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve, National Marine Conservation Area Reserve, and Haida Heritage Site, Parks Canada, Queen Charlotte, 04 Oct 2011 Richardson, Colin (Laa’daa), Ministry of Forest, Lands and Natural Resource Operations, Queen Charlotte, 3 Oct 2011 Wier, Heron, Owner and Manager, Moresby Explorers Ltd., Sandspit, 30 Sep 2011 Wilson, Barbara J. (Kii’iljuus), Cultural Resource Management, Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve, National Marine Conservation Area Reserve, and Haida Heritage Site, Parks Canada, Queen Charlotte, 04/06 Oct 2011

97 The program SGin Xaana Sdiihltl’lxa: Nightbirds Returning aims to protect and restore seabird colonies through eradication of invasive rats; Llgaay gwii sdiihlda: Restoring Balance focuses on increasing ts’uu (red cedar) and understorey plant abundance on several islands through deer management (AMB 2018, 16). 98 In order to protect, conserve and restore habitats, species and food webs in Gwaii Haanas, the LSP Plan lists a number or targets, among them preventing the introduction of new invasive species, documenting key ecological features and species and their habitat, developing and implementing action plans for species at risk such as Pacific herring and red cedar as well as an invasive species biosecurity plan, and increasing the abundance of seabird and understorey plant through eradication of invasive rats and deer management. Furthermore, a herring rebuilding strategy and restoration projects (e.g. salmon streams, kelp forests) are developed (AMB 2018, 17).

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Statistics Canada. 2017f. Port Clements, British Columbia and British Columbia [Province]. Census Profile. 2016 Census. Ottawa: Statistics Canada Catalogue no. 98-316-X2016001, https://www12.statcan.gc.ca/census-recensement/2016/dp-pd/prof/index.cfm?Lang=E [accessed 10 Jan 2021]. Statistics Canada. 2017g. Queen Charlotte, VL [Census subdivision], British Columbia and British Columbia [Province] (table). Census Profile. 2016 Census. Ottawa: Statistics Canada Catalogue no. 98-316-X2016001, https://www12.statcan.gc.ca/census-recensement/2016/dp-pd/prof/ index.cfm?Lang=E [accessed 10 Jan 2021]. Statistics Canada. 2017h. Sandspit, British Columbia and British Columbia. Census Profile, 2016 Census. Ottawa: Statistics Canada Catalogue no. 98-316-X2016001, https://www12.statcan.gc. ca/census-recensement/2016/dp-pd/prof/index.cfm?Lang=E [accessed 14 Jan 2021]. Statistics Canada. 2017i. Skidegate 1, IRI, British Columbia and British Columbia. Census Profile, 2016 Census. Ottawa: Statistics Canada Catalogue no. 98-316-X2016001, https://www12. statcan.gc.ca/census-recensement/2016/dp-pd/prof/index.cfm?Lang=E [accessed 20 Feb 2019]. Statistics Canada. 2017j. Tlell, British Columbia and British Columbia. Census Profile. 2016 Census. Ottawa: Statistics Canada Catalogue no. 98-316-X2016001, https://www12.statcan. gc.ca/census-recensement/2016/dp-pd/prof/index.cfm?Lang=E [accessed 10 Jan 2021]. Steedman, Scott, and Jisgang/Nika Collison (eds.). 2011. That Which Makes Us Haida: The Haida Language. Skidegate, BC: Haida Gwaii Museum Press. Stewart, Hilary. 1984. Cedar: Tree of Life to the Northwest Coast Indians. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Stewart, Hilary. 1993. Looking at Totem Poles. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Susemihl, Geneviève. 2011a. “Convention, Conservation, Communication: Native American Culture in a World Heritage Context,” Ethnoscipts, 13(2), 65–81. Susemihl, Geneviève. 2011b. “Cultural Diversity and World Heritage in Canada: Perspectives on Migration and Cultural Conservation,” in: Ewelina Bujanowska, Marcin Gabrys and Tomasz Sikora (eds.), Towards Critical Multiculturalism: Dialogues Between/Among Canadian Diasporas. Katowice: PARA, 102–119. Susemihl, Geneviève. 2016. Bären, Lachse, Totempfähle: Die kanadische Inselgruppe Haida Gwaii am Rand der Welt. Madgeburg: Traveldiary Verlag. Swanton, John R. 1903. “The Haida Calendar,” American Anthropologist, 5(2), Apr-Jun, 331–335. Swanton, John R. 1905a. “Contributions to the Ethnology of the Haida,” in: Franz Boas (Ed.), The Jesup North Pacific Expedition. Memoir of the American Museum of Natural History, New York, Vol. V. Leiden: E. J. Brill Ltd., 1–300. Swanton, John R. 1905b. “Haida Texts and Myths: Skidegate Dialect,” Bureau of American Ethnology Bulletin, No. 29. Washington: Government Printing Office. Swanton, John R. 1908. “Haida Texts, Masset Dialect,” in: Franz Boas (Ed.), The Jesup North Pacific Expedition. Memoir of the American Museum of Natural History, New York, Vol. X. Leiden: E.J. Brill Ltd., 273–802. Takeda, Louise. 2015. Island Spirit Rising: Reclaiming the Forests of Haida Gwaii. Vancouver: UBC Press. Takeuchi, Craig. 2017. “Telefilm Canada to Fund Three B.C. Films among 11 Indigenous Productions,” The Georgia Straight, 14 August, https://www.straight.com/movies/948011/telefilmcanada-fund-three-bc-films-among-11-indigenous-productions [accessed 04 May 2020]. The Haida Nation. 2010. “Athlii Gwaii: 25 Years Down the Road,” Haida Laas, November. Thomlinson, Eugene and Geoffrey Crouch. 2012. “Aboriginal Peoples, Parks Canada, and Protected Spaces: A Case Study in Co-Management at Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve,” Annals of Leisure Research, 15(1), 69–86. UNESCO. 2004. Gwaii Haanas, https://whc.unesco.org/en/tentativelists/1938/ [accessed 18 Dec 2020]. UNESCO. 2012. SGang Gwaay: Best Practice, https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/157/bestpractice/ [accessed 23 Mar 2020].

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UNESCO. 2021d. SGang Gwaay, https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/157/ [accessed 02 May 2021]. Vaillant, John. 2005. The Golden Spruce: A True Story of Myth, Madness and Greed. New York: W.W. Norton & Co. van den Brink, Jacob Herman. 1976. The Haida Indians: Cultural Change, Mainly Between 1876– 1970. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Walker, Michael. 2017. “Historic Chief’s Chest Journey Back to Haida Gwaii from the American Museum of Natural History,” American Museum of Natural History, July. Waller, Denis. 2014. Raven Tales: Stories of the Raven based on the folklore of the Tlingit, Haida, Tsimshian, Inuit, and Athapascan of Alaska. Create Space. Weighton, Lisa. 2018. “Hiring at Gwaii Haanas: Evaluating Opportunity,” Royal Roads University News and Events, 11 June, http://www.royalroads.ca/news/hiring-gwaii-haanas-evaluatingopportunity [accessed 05 May 2021]. Weiss, Joseph. 2018. Shaping the Future on Haida Gwaii: Life beyond Settler Colonialism. Vancouver: UBC Press. White, Frederick H. 2006. “Was New Spain Really First? Rereading Juan Perez’s 1774 Expedition to Haida Gwaii,” The Canadian Journal of Native Studies, XXVI, 1, 1–24. Wienke, Brittany. 2015. “Postcard from Haida Gwaii: Where Sustainability Dates Back 13,000Years,” Rainforest Alliance, 21 July, https://www.rainforest-alliance.org/articles/ postcard-from-haida-gwaii-where-sustainability-dates-back-13000-years [accessed 28 May 2020]. Wilson, Barbara. 2019. DamXan gud.ad t’alang hllGang.gulXads Gina Tllgaay (Working together to make it a better world). Unpublished Master Thesis. Vancouver: Simon Fraser University. Winslow-Spragge, Lois. 1993. No Ordinary Man: George Mercer Dawson 1849–1901. Toronto: Natural Heritage/Natural History Inc. Wright, Robin K. n.d. Totem Poles: Heraldic Columns of the Northwest Coast. University of Washington Libraries, https://content.lib.washington.edu/aipnw/wright.html [accessed 10 Jan 2021].

Chapter 6

Indigenous Independence, Resilient Relations: The Tr’ondëk-Klondike

Show me a site on this earth where we have the persistent First Nations culture and traditions that we see here existing alongside a relatively new industry that in many ways likely should have displaced the First Nation people. But it didn’t. There is a story here in Tr’ondëk-Klondike that we have an obligation to share with humanity. Wayne Potoroka, Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and Mayor of Dawson City We have a huge traditional territory. We look out onto the land and it’s the same landscape that my ancestors walked. Jackie Olson, Tourism Association Director and Member of the World Heritage Advisory Committee

Abstract The chapter describes the proposed property of Tr’ondëk-Klondike in the Yukon, and the process of developing the nomination for World Heritage, focusing on the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in input to that process. It sheds light on the management of the different heritage sites within the nominated property, gives an overview of Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in history and culture, analyses the representation and interpretation of the Klondike by Parks Canada and the Dawson City Museum, and explores ‘alternative’ Indigenous interpretation and storytelling at the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre. Furthermore, the chapter outlines community programs connected to Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in heritage such as culture camps, language programs, and community gatherings. This case study indicates that the site serves as an important ‘tool’ for Indigenous empowerment and community development. Keywords Tr’ondëk-Klondike · Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in · Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre · Continuing cultural landscape · Klondike · Indigenous self-government · Traditional knowledge

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 G. Susemihl, Claiming Back Their Heritage, Heritage Studies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-40063-6_6

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The Tr’ondëk-Klondike (TK) is an exceptional living cultural landscape in Canada’s Yukon Territory, bound together by the Yukon River and the Klondike River. Home of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in for millennia, Tr’ondëk-Klondike reflects the enduring coexistence of Indigenous and newcomer populations, which were brought and bound together by an iconic nineteenth-century gold rush. The area was the epicentre of the Klondike Gold Rush – the brief, but fascinating “last grand adventure,” which still captures the imagination of people around the world and was written onto the cultural memory of North America (NPS 2019). As the primary settlement within Tr’ondëk-Klondike, Dawson City contains over 260 historic structures and boasts a burgeoning arts scene, a stable placer mining industry and the headquarters of the self-governing Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Nation. In 2017, the Tr’ondëk-Klondike was nominated for World Heritage. However, due to concerns raised by ICOMOS regarding the representation of Indigenous culture, the property’s boundaries and the active placer mining within a cultural landscape, the nomination was withdrawn and a new proposal for nomination was submitted to UNESCO in 2021. The nomination process has been an empowering experience for the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, fostering communications, relations and partnerships with the federal and Yukon government and other stakeholders in the region. Owing to the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in’s exceptional political situation of self-government, from the very beginning they have not only participated in the nomination, declaration and management of the proposed World Heritage site, they have, in fact, taken the lead in the writing and communications process, thus considerably influencing the nomination with their perspective of cultural heritage. They have presented a holistic view on World Heritage that includes their traditional knowledge and values. This process of nominating a heritage is also an expression of UNESCO’s recent bottom-up approach to nomination and site management involving local communities and Indigenous people, considering them as crucial stakeholders in the processes (Deegan 2012). While Tr’ondëk-Klondike serves as an example for a “paradigmatic shift” within UNESCO (Rössler 2012, 30), at the same time, it demonstrates that there are a number of problems with the UNESCO concept of ‘cultural landscape’. This chapter describes the nominated property of Tr’ondëk-Klondike of 2017 and the process of developing that nomination, including Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in input to that process. It sheds light on the management of the different sites within the nominated property, analyses the representation and interpretation of the Klondike at different museums and explores ‘alternative’ Indigenous interpretations and storytelling at the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre. It also outlines community programs connected to Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in heritage such as culture camps, language programs and community gatherings. This case study, thus, indicates that although the site has not been inscribed on the World Heritage list yet, it serves as an important ‘tool’ for Indigenous empowerment and community development.

6.1

The Proposed World Heritage Site of Tr’ondëk-Klondike

6.1

The Proposed World Heritage Site of Tr’ondëk-Klondike

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The proposed World Heritage site of Tr’ondëk-Klondike comprises approximately 38,000 hectares of land and water including parts of the Klondike River, Bonanza Creek and Yukon River valleys. It extends 85 kilometres northwest from Dawson City along the Yukon River and roughly 30 kilometres southeast into the Bonanza Creek valley. The nominated property includes the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in homeland and historic Klondike goldfields, and “continues to support strong Indigenous traditional land use and placer gold mining” (TK Nom 2017, 4) (Fig. 6.1). Inscribed on Canada’s tentative list since 2004, Tr’ondëk-Klondike was nominated for World Heritage in 2017. From the beginning, the local Indigenous people, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in (TH), have been profoundly involved in the process of nomination, identifying the process as being important to their regional economic development objectives, and under their leadership the project developed momentum within the Dawson community (Davidson 2016). Before the final decision of the World Heritage Committee, however, Canada retrieved the proposal. An ICOMOS report had indicated weaknesses of the nomination concerning cultural aspects and ongoing mining activities within the boundaries of the property. This section describes the nominated World Heritage site of Tr’ondëk-Klondike as proposed in 2017 and outlines the nomination process and local Indigenous involvement within this process.

Fig. 6.1 The property of Tr’ondëk-Klondike in the Yukon as nominated in 2017. (Source: TKWH 2018)

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Description of the Proposed Site of Tr’ondëk-Klondike

The dramatic natural setting of the site along the Yukon River, one of the longest and most prominent rivers in North America, comprises a stretch along the Yukon River valley, the intersecting Klondike River valley and the adjacent hills and creeks. Located 400 km south of the Arctic Circle and within the sight of the commanding Ogilvie Mountains, the property is part of the Boreal Cordillera eco-zone and the Klondike Plateau eco-region.1 Rich in native flora and fauna, subarctic boreal forests determine the landscape. Caribou enter the region on their seasonal movements; moose, black and grizzly bear, wolf, fox, marten, lynx, wolverine and beaver continue to be trapped today; salmon and other fish species populate the waters. The natural setting and environment of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike region have played an influential role in creating the associated cultural landscape. The presence of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in in the area before, during and after the iconic Klondike Gold Rush has been supported and influenced by the concentration and availability of natural resources, primarily salmon, moose and caribou. The existence of another natural resource – the placer gold deposits – led to an influx of newcomers and stimulated mining activity in the region that has continued for more than a century. The Yukon River provided an ideal transportation corridor that has enabled people’s movement along the river, and, in the early days, made the region accessible to traders, trappers, prospectors, miners and administrators (TK Nom 2017, 17). Located in a harsh subarctic environment, the nominated property includes a wide variety of heritage features and components, among them Indigenous camps and settlements such as Tr’ochëk and Moosehide. The proposed site of Tr’ondëkKlondike is comprised of three distinct geographical areas: the Yukon Riverscape from Tr’ochëk to Forty Mile, the Klondike goldfields and the sites of Tr’ochëk and Dawson City. These areas are geographically contiguous and interlinked in terms of how they form the cultural landscape, each of them containing a number of distinct features that reflect part of the overall narrative and significance of the site, featuring archaeological, built and landscape components. The Yukon Riverscape from Tr’ochëk to Forty Mile – the first of the three geographical areas – constitutes a historical and contemporary travel corridor that encompasses fishing camps and settlements associated with its inhabitation by Indigenous and newcomer populations before, during and after the Klondike Gold Rush, among them the settlements of Forty Mile or Ch’ëdähchëk kek’it, Moosehide or Jëjik dhä dënezhu kek’it and Fort Reliance.2 The area also includes transportation infrastructure including riverside trails such as the Moosehide Trail and the Percy

1

The Boreal Cordillera Ecozone is an extension of the boreal forest zone that stretches from the Atlantic coast in Labrador across the continent to northern British Columbia and southern Yukon (Smith et al. 2004, 159–168). 2 Established in 1874, Fort Reliance was the first trading post within TH traditional territory and is still used as a camp by the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, who continue to fish salmon there (TK Nom 2017, 24).

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DeWolfe Trail, and an assemblage of features related to the Yukon River sternwheelers.3 Together, these features “illustrate the importance of the Yukon River as a travel corridor that has supported Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in trade and harvesting since time immemorial and provided access to the area for early newcomers from all over the world to trap, trade, prospect, and mine for gold” (TK Nom 2017, 18). This transportation network is evidence of the cultural interaction that surrounded the Gold Rush era and has continued to take place in different ways and on different terms in later decades. Today, the Yukon River remains a reference point for residents and visitors alike, continuing to provide access to harvesting and hunting areas, recreational sites and gathering places of cultural significance. The second geographical area is the Klondike Goldfields, located southeast of Dawson City along creeks that flow down into the Klondike River. This area contains some of the richest placer gold deposits in the world and includes the world-famous Bonanza and Eldorado creeks, focal points for miners during the Klondike Gold Rush. This cultural landscape comprises numerous historical and contemporary mining sites and infrastructure, such as historical and contemporary placer claims, including Discovery Claim, the site of the original gold find that triggered the Klondike Gold Rush in 1896. Today, it is a National Historic Site “that commemorates the significance of the claim for initiating the development of the Yukon Territory; for illustrating the evolution of mining from early, labour-intensive methods to corporate dredging and caterpillar tractor mining; and for illustrating culturally distinctive world views of a shared experience” (TK Nom 2017, 27–28). The landscape also contains dredge tailings,4 a testimony to the corporate industrial phase of gold extraction, dredges, including Dredge No. 4, the largest woodenhulled, bucket-line dredge in North America,5 as well as miners’ cabins, town sites, contemporary mining camps and transportation routes. Together, these features “reveal a history of continuous mining dating from the 1890s to the present that has left an indelible imprint on the natural landscape” (ibid., 27). The third geographical area is made up of the settlement sites of Tr’ochëk and Dawson City (see Fig. 6.2), that are situated directly across from each other, on either side of the confluence of the Klondike and Yukon Rivers. Tr’ochëk is an ancient Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in fishing camp and gathering site that was appropriated as an encampment for miners during the Klondike Gold Rush. Dawson City with its

3 Sternwheeler traffic on the upper Yukon River began in 1898 and continued to provide the only link to and from Dawson up to the 1950s, contributing to the economic development of the area. The assemblage of features includes the sternwheeler shipyard, steamboat slough, and the sternwheeler SS Keno. 4 The snake-like tailings are the materials left over by dredges that mined by digging out the ground. 5 Constructed in 1912, Dredge No. 4 was the largest of 13 dredges operated by the Yukon Consolidated Gold Corporation, and represents the pinnacle of industrial, mechanized mining in the Klondike. Eight storeys high, it produced up to 800 ounces of gold in a day and was operated until 1960. Today, it has undergone restoration and is preserved as a National Historic Site by Parks Canada (Neufeld and Habiluk 1994; TK Nom 2017).

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Fig. 6.2 View of Dawson City and the Yukon River from the Moosehide Trail. (Photo by Susemihl)

historic street grid6 is the town that developed because of the Klondike Gold Rush and continues to flourish as a regional hub for contemporary mining, tourism, arts and culture, public services and government. The Dawson Historical Complex National Historic Site is a collection of over two dozen buildings remaining from the gold rush era nestled in the living, historical community of Dawson. Both sites are key features of Tr’ondëk-Klondike, as “together they reveal the evolution of human use and occupation of the area. They also illustrate the social and cultural history of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, that of the protagonists of the Klondike Gold Rush and subsequent phases of mining, and the record of a diverse contemporary community” (TK Nom 2017, 37).

6.1.2

The Tr’ondëk-Klondike as a Continuing Cultural Landscape

In 2017, Canada wished Tr’ondëk-Klondike to be considered a cultural landscape and proposed inscription under criterion (iv) and (vi) of Paragraph 77 of the

6

Dawson City’s gridiron configuration is evidence of the structured approach brought to the community in its early days by the Canadian government, differentiating the town from haphazard mining settlements.

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Operational Guidelines for the Implementation of the World Heritage Convention (UNESCO 2015). As an evolving cultural landscape, it acknowledged the Indigenous people’s ongoing relationship with the land and the placer gold mining for generations. Justification for inscription under criterion (iv): “to be an outstanding example of a type of landscape which illustrates (a) significant stage(s) in human history” (16) reads as follows: Tr’ondëk-Klondike is an outstanding example of an evolving gold rush landscape that illustrates the iconic gold rushes of the nineteenth century, which were a significant stage in human history. It offers a superlative representation of an Indigenous people’s continuing relationship with their lands, which was maintained despite the impacts of the Gold Rush. It also offers an intact mining landscape that reveals the magnitude of the event and the ongoing evolution of placer gold mining. Although short lived, the Klondike Gold Rush transformed the traditional lands of Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and initiated over a century of intensive interaction between Indigenous and newcomer communities. Tr’ondëk-Klondike is exceptional for being a complete gold rush landscape in which the formative activities of placer gold mining and Indigenous cultural traditions and practices remain at the core of the property’s identity and continue to shape and reshape the landscape today (TK Nom 2017, xii).

Justification for criterion (vi): “to be directly or tangibly associated with events or living traditions, with ideas, or with beliefs, with artistic and literary works of outstanding universal significance” (UNESCO 2015, 16) is described with the following word: Tr’ondëk-Klondike is iconic in its direct and tangible association with frontier culture. An idea developed and perpetuated by newcomers, frontier culture is strongly associated with colonial ambitions of territorial expansion and resources extraction underlain by a racist worldview. Frontier culture is also associated with cross-cultural exchange between Indigenous peoples and newcomers as well as rich material and intangible forms of cultural expression. In Tr’ondëk-Klondike, the expression of frontier culture has evolved to describe a space where Indigenous culture thrives and interacts with newcomer culture that is heavily influenced by the spirit of adventure and self-reliance that characterized the Gold Rush. Frontier culture is most fully and powerfully expressed in the architecture and settlement patterns of Dawson City, its continued use by placer miners and Indigenous people, and in the evocative representation of the Klondike Gold Rush in over a century of literature and other forms of art. It is also profoundly expressed in the enduring presence and strength of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, which is demonstrated through archaeological sites, settlement patterns, harvesting practices, self-governance, and living oral traditions. Tr’ondëk-Klondike constitutes a superlative example of the evolving phenomenon of frontier culture that is embodied in the physical landscape and the ways in which this landscape is inhabited and represented (TK Nom 2017, xiii).

Canada wished the region to be considered a cultural landscape because the landscape is unique in the way it has been shaped over time by both Indigenous people and miners before and since the Klondike Gold Rush, and in its continuing significance and representation of Indigenous and frontier culture. According to the definitions in the Operational Guidelines (UNESCO 2015, 88) the Tr’ondëk-Klondike was to be considered an “organically evolved landscape” which “results from initial social, economic, administrative, and/or religious imperative and has developed its present form by association with and in response to its natural environment.”

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The landscape, thus, reflects the “process of evolution in their form and component features” and falls into the sub-category of continuing landscape, “which retains an active social role in contemporary society closely associated with the traditional way of life, and in which the evolutionary process is still in progress. At the same time it exhibits significant material evidence of its evolution over time” (ibid.). The Tr’ondëk-Klondike reflects in its form and features the development and progress of continuing cultural meetings of different cultures and lifestyles. This process is more than ever in progress, as the different cultures – the Indigenous people and non-Indigenous mining society – meet on active ground today, as partners of equal standing. At the same time, the site exhibits significant material evidence of its evolution, as can be seen from the features within its boundaries.

6.1.3

Preparing and Withdrawing of the Nomination, 2004–2018

The road to becoming a UNESCO World Heritage site has been long. Already in the 1970s, Parks Canada experts agreed that ‘The Klondike’ had merit as a universal story, and the idea of designating the Klondike region as a World Heritage site started permeating. It was not until 2004, however, that ‘The Klondike’ was placed on Canada’s Tentative List for World Heritage sites. Positioned as a transnational cultural landscape, the proposed site included the stampeders’ trek along the Gold Rush corridor from Seattle to Dawson City, but the U.S. government was not ready to support the American segment. From the beginning, the ongoing theme was life before, during and after the Gold Rush and the relations between First Nations and newcomers. Thus, the First Nations’ perspective was important, as were the continuing communities and a working mining landscape (TKWH 2018). Several versions of a proposal were drafted prior to 2010, when a Steering Committee started to investigate the costs and implications of entering into the nomination process. Reckoning that the Klondike region alone had a good chance of success, they conducted a survey to gauge local interest in a potential nomination. Although there was general support, the survey revealed that there were misunderstandings about what a designation would mean. A communication strategy was developed and community interest and values were explored. Moreover, World Heritage was “flagged as a key priority during regional economic planning identified in the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Final Agreement, [. . .] with potentially far-reaching benefits for the whole community” (ibid.). In 2013, federal funding was secured and a community-based Advisory Committee composed of key community partners was formed. A project manager was hired to work with the advisory and project management committees to carry forward a feasibility study and engage with the community. An economic impact analysis was completed, which revealed positive projections for increased visits and regional employment opportunities. Community working groups began drafting a

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Statement of Universal Values and the site’s boundaries with the participation of the Klondike Placer Miners’ Association and the Yukon Chamber of Mines. In 2015, the Tr’ondëk-Klondike nomination project picked up momentum, as research papers on architecture, Indigenous land use and placer mining were commissioned. The Advisory Committee and project team, in communication with Parks Canada representatives in Ottawa, continued to refine the site’s values and physical boundaries and started writing the nomination dossier. Finally, in January 2017, the Tr’ondëkKlondike nomination – a dossier of 354 pages with eleven appendices – was submitted by Parks Canada to UNESCO’s World Heritage Centre in Paris to be considered by the World Heritage Committee in its annual meeting in July 2018 (Davidson 2016; PC 2016; TKWH 2018). With hopes high and the nomination seemingly certain, Canada’s withdrawal of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike proposal in May 2018 came as a big blow for the whole community. The reason for the withdrawal were concerns raised by ICOMOS, whose representatives had reviewed the nomination and visited the site in August 2017 to evaluate its heritage values and management regime and to confirm the level of support of the various stakeholders.7

6.1.4

Discussions and Critical Concerns of the Nomination of 2017

While ICOMOS found the site’s protection, management, conservation and monitoring measures all to be satisfactory, it expressed concerns regarding its boundaries, some elements that would contribute to its proposed OUV and the presentation of the site as a continuing cultural landscape. In a statement to the Yukon News, Parks Canada officials said that ICOMOS “indicated they had expected to see a different focus on Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in culture in the nomination. In their view, the proposed boundaries did not adequately capture the landscape elements of the site and they expressed concerns about mining within the property” (Joannou 2018). There seemed to be different approaches and understandings of what a continuing landscape means, how continuing mining can be incorporated into a heritage site and how the Indigenous people are represented, as project manager Molly Shore explained: “There’s still a mismatch of understanding between how we see our place and how they see it from the outside” (Shore, quoted in Joannou 2018). As the report has not been made public, it is incomprehensible what a ‘different focus’ of Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in culture would be and in what way the proposed boundaries were meant to capture the landscape elements of the site.

7

The ICOMOC report was not released by the territorial or federal government or Parks Canada. The ICOMOS Evaluations of Nominations (2018, 168) stated that the proposal Tr’ondëk-Klondike (No. 1564) was withdrawn.

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Both the project partners and Parks Canada considered Tr’ondëk-Klondike a unique site, which commemorates a living gold rush landscape, identifying Indigenous culture and historic and current mining activities as key elements. Current mining within the boundaries, though, was problematic for ICOMOS. While the TK-proposal made ongoing mining a “cornerstone of the site,” this approach seemed to have been a new concept to the international heritage community. The idea to include active mining in the nomination was intensely discussed within the community. Many miners, however, did not support the proposal, as they were afraid that it would curtail and hinder mining development in the region. It was, therefore, not a direction that the community “arrived at lightly,” as Shore states. For some time, the contacts in Ottawa did not understand their intention, and only when they visited the site they seemed to appreciate the idea. Shore thinks that people maybe “have to come here to get a sense of our perspective.” For the project team, however, it was important that “all the people involved here are represented in a way that feels authentic”, which did not “seem to match up with the way the international heritage bodies see it” (Interview with Shore 2018). Explaining the concept and having a mutual understanding of what it means to have mining at a World Heritage site has been part of the struggle, as Shore explained: “I don’t know of any other [sites] that have it, so it’s considered a fairly progressive nomination by Canada” (Shore, quoted in Joannou 2018). The category of evolving landscape was also called into question. Tr’ondëkKlondike has been nominated as a ‘cultural landscape’ that continues to evolve and change. This means it is a living cultural site, similar to World Heritage sites that have ongoing agriculture or other activities.8 Tr’ondëk-Klondike was proposed as living, evolving site in which the traditions of gold mining and Indigenous activities on the land are still active and will continue to be active and the maintenance of the site’s values depends on it, which makes this site different from a natural World Heritage site, protected park or relic site that remain unchanged (TKWH 2018). For Shore it was disappointing that ICOMOS representatives did not seem to understand this presentation of the ‘realities’ of the region. She explained that both the Indigenous story and the active mining have been challenging to connect with at the ICOMOS side. What for her and her team felt a “true representation of this place” was not the case for the advisors. Shore criticized that while UNESCO created the category of ‘continuing landscape’, they did not specify what “changing heritage looks like”. Getting no clear advice by UNESCO or ICOMOS about what ‘continuing’ means, how much of the landscape can change and how this change needs to be managed left Shore feeling “very frustrated” (Interview with Shore 2018). It is not uncommon for World Heritage nominations to be withdrawn or delayed to address matters raised by the World Heritage advisory bodies. Considering the

8

Other World Heritage sites whose value depends on the continuation of farming, distilling, grinding or herding are, for example, the Agave Landscape and Ancient Industrial Facilities of Tequila, Mexico (farming and tequila distilleries), Sewell, Chile (active ore grinder), and Laponia, Sweden (Indigenous tradition of reindeer herding).

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feedback from ICOMOS, the partners wanted to continue working together to explore options to advance the nomination, and Parks Canada and the project partners would seek to engage ICOMOS in additional discussions to help determine the path forward to further pursue the successful inscription of the site on the World Heritage list (TKWH 2018). The committee saw this as an opportunity to build an even “stronger nomination,” according to World Heritage Advisory Committee Co-Chair Paul Robitaille (ibid.). After the withdrawal, the nomination went back to Ottawa for a review by international experts who have experience with this type of site and who were to look at the nomination with fresh eyes regarding the people’s intent and their rational for choosing this direction. For those involved with the proposal it had been a long progress during which they might have developed a “tunnel vision”, Shore states, and they were having “a hard time pulling away” from this idea that they had carefully crafted. Shore continues that partners in Ottawa that they had worked with for many years were also “having a sort of failure of imagination”. The question was: “If we did revise and resubmit, what would it look like; which aspects of this community and culture would be reflected in it?” (Interview with Shore 2018). When the project was taken “out of their hands” in 2018, it was difficult for the advisory committee, as it was locally led for many years, while Parks Canada provided advice. Once Ottawa had “taken it back as Canada’s nomination” to put it through a review process, the committee was “in a kind of hiatus, which is challenging”, as Shore admits: “Instead of go, go, go and having lots to work and ongoing public engagement [. . .] we wait for Parks Canada to sort of scope out what that review would look like” (ibid.), using it as an opportunity “to reach out to ICOMOS and find a way of having a mutual understanding of what we proposed here and what our site’s heritage values are” (Shore, quoted in Joannou 2018). In 2021, Canada submitted a revised nomination, with a shifted focus from the Klondike Gold Rush to the experience of colonialism by the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Nation, and with new boundaries that ensured that none of the sites proposed are being actively mined (Ritchie 2021, n.p.; Tukker 2021, n.p.).

6.1.5

Indigenous Involvement and Collaboration in the Nomination Process

While the nomination was a true community endeavor, for the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in it was of major importance. From the beginning, they had been profoundly involved in the process. The nomination was prepared by individuals who live in Dawson City, in collaboration with and having the approval of community members. Through the process, the TH formed strong partnerships and generated valuable research on their shared history, cultural practices and community values. Since 2013, the development of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike nomination was overseen by a community-based Advisory Committee and managed by Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, who were leading the

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project. The Committee was chaired by the TH Heritage Director and composed of key community partners including representatives from the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, the Klondike Visitors Association, Dawson City Chamber of Commerce, the Dawson City Museum, the City of Dawson, the Klondike Placer Miners’ Association, the Yukon Chamber of Mines, the Yukon Government/Tourism and Culture and Parks Canada/Klondike National Historic Sites (TKWH 2018). The Project Management team9 included the project manager, a communications assistant, a TH heritage officer and a Yukon Historic Sites manager. It was responsible for the operation of the project, communication and public engagement strategies, and the coordination of all aspects relevant to the project. In addition, working groups were established to assist with technical research in areas such as OUVs, site boundary and buffer zone, management planning, development assessment and communications (ibid.). The full-time, locally based project manager, employed by Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and accountable to the TH Heritage Director, was hired to carry forward the feasibility study and engage with the community. She was working with the Advisory and Project Management Committees, contractors, scholars and the Parks Canada National Office advisors to provide administrative support to the committees, coordinate the community engagement process, compose a Statement of Outstanding Universal Value, communicate with regional stakeholders and the public and coordinate the development and delivery of the nomination proposal (TKWH 2018). The project was managed by TH with funds from the Canadian Northern Economic Development Agency and Yukon Department of Economic Development.10 For the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, taking the leadership in the endeavor has had a number of advantages and benefits. Among others, it strengthened and intensified the communication processes within the community. While these had been built up over the past decade, the process of nomination gave it a boost and the involvement strengthened their position within the community. Yet, people had known and been working with each other before, and the nomination process did not change or install new cooperation, but “reinforced and strengthened existing relationships and working collaborations” (Interview with Somerville 2018). The impact of the nomination project and the importance of heritage for TH community development, though, are easier to analyse and comprehend with a short overview of TH history and culture and an understanding of Indigenous self-government.

9 The Committee consisted of Project Manager Paula Hassard (until 2018), Barbara Hogan (Yukon Historic Sites), Lee Whalen (TH Heritage), and Molly Shore (Communication Assistant; Project Manager since 2018). 10 In 2016, the Canadian Northern Economic Development Agency supported the project with CAD 700,000 over three years, and the TH First Nation contributed CAD 59,662 to it (Joannou 2018).

6.2

The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in: A History of a People and a Place

6.2

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The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in: A History of a People and a Place

For millennia, the Hän-speaking people11 of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in (also Hän or Han)12 and their forebears have lived by the Yukon River. The oldest archeological findings in the Dawson area date back 11,000 years. Their name, Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, indicates their ancestral occupation of the ancient site of Tr’ochëk, located at the mouth of the Tr’ondëk (or Klondike River) where it flows into the Yukon River, near present-day Dawson City. Liberally translated, Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in means ‘the people who lived at the mouth of the Klondike’ or ‘the people of Tr’ondëk’: Tr’o refers to the heavy rocks or ‘hammerstones’ that were used to drive the salmon weir stakes into the riverbed, ndëk stands for ‘river’ and Hwëch’in means the ‘people.’ The name Klondike appears to be the miners’ rendition and English corruption of the word Tr’ondëk.13 An important place at the heart of their territory was Tr’ochëk. Although not a permanent settlement, it was a place where the people lived, hunted and fished throughout the year. The life of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in is closely linked to the Klondike Gold Rush and the development of the region. However, when they signed a Self-Government Agreement with the Government of Canada in 1998, the foundation was laid for a self-determined life once again.

6.2.1

Life on the Land

The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in were a highly mobile people. They followed migrating species on their seasonal round, travelling in small groups to places where food was most abundant at a particular time of year. They travelled extensively through their vast territory, which stretched from the Yukon River valley into the mountains to the north and south, following the river system. They did not consider themselves a nomadic people, however, but having “a really big home” in which “people moved around as needed” and “relied on other people for help” (Personal comm. with Angie 11 Hän is a Na-Déné language of the Northern Athapaskan sub-group by the same name and spoken in the communities of Dawson City, Yukon, as well as Eagle and Fairbanks, Alaska. It is considered an endangered language, and in 2007 there were only ten registered speakers. A spelling system for Hän was devised by linguists in the 1970s (ELP 2007; First Voices 2020; Omniglot 2021; YNLC 2020). 12 The Han/Hän/Hwëch’in/Han Hwech’in are also known as Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Nation or Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Han Nation, formerly the Dawson Indian Band; see Dawson Indian Band 1988; YNLC 2020; Crow and Obley 1981; McPhee 1976; Mishler and Semione 2004; Osgood 1971; Wenger and Brown 2021. 13 According to Yukon commissioner William Ogilvie, the correct Native name for the Klondike is ‘Trondiuck’ or ‘tiuck’, which in English means ‘hammer-water’, as the stream was a famous salmon run (Dobrowolsky 2003, 9; also, Gerald Isaac, as quoted in TK Nom 2017, 37; First Voices 2020).

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Joseph-Rear 2018). The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in made their living on the land. Their diet included salmon and other fish as well as mammals such as moose, caribou and smaller game and a variety of plants and berries. Resources from the land provided raw materials needed to make clothing, transport and shelter. Caribou from two annual migrations14 were an important staple food and supplied the people with skins for clothing and dwellings and bone for tools, sinew and babiche.15 They devised ingenious tools and appliances from wood, skin and stone to trap, hunt and store their food (Dobrowolsky and Hammer 2001, 7). One of the most prized and abundant food sources was salmon. By late June, the salmon would migrate up the Yukon River from the Bering Sea to spawn in side streams and on shallow gravel bars. Then the people moved to campsites along the rivers to harvest and dry fish. They used fish weirs and basket traps to harvest salmon, set in the shallow, slow flowing slough. People would wade into the waters to gather fish in large nets woven from spruce roots, and the men steered their birch bark canoes onto the river where they scooped salmon with dipnets or used spears. Women would cut up the catch, smoke dry it and cache it for future use. In the late 1880s, at Tr’ochëk “the whole width of the riverbed was staked, and half a dozen families were camped on an island in the mouth of the Klondike” (Ogilvie, quoted in Dobrowolsky 2003, 9). The Hän people were accomplished traders and part of a complex network of trade and exchange linked to southwest Yukon and northern British Columbia. They maintained interrelations through family connections and frequent gatherings with neighboring people, including Gwich’in, Southern and Northern Tutchone and Tanana. People walked hundreds of miles to trade and visit over an extensive network of trails, trading birch bark, red ochre and salmon for native copper, obsidian and dentalium shells. Through this network they also acquired Western products, and long before the first White traders steamed up the Yukon River, the Hän were already using kettles, beads, tobacco and tea (ibid., 14).16 Hän society and culture is based on two clans, Wolf and Crow, and a matrilineal system of descent. In the mid-nineteenth century, the Hän were loosely organized in three or four extended family groups or bands associated with particular winter encampments. There was some fluidity between the local bands due to marriage and

14 The caribou herds once numbered in the hundreds of thousands, but declined throughout the last century. Today, the herds are recovering; the Forty Mile herd counts about 50,000 animals and the Porcupine herd about 218,000 animals (Barker and Hegel 2012; Campbell 2011; PCMB 2018; Tok Air Service 2021). 15 Babiche is a type of cord or lacing made of sinew or rawhide, used half-way through the tanning process. It was used for different purposes, such as for webbing, the making of snowshoes, braided straps and fishing lines. 16 Metallurgy is a technological innovation of a third occupation period approximately 1400 years ago, based on native copper. The production of copper implements and ornaments indicates direct Hän involvement in extensive networks of trade and exchange throughout Alaska and Yukon, and indirect contacts to the distant metal working cultures of Siberia (Dobrowolsky and Hammer 2001, 3).

6.2

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other reasons, as a person must marry a member of the opposite clan. Even though they recognized a formalized way of relating to other people, ethnic and cultural distinctions were not firmly asserted, and kinship and family was defined by who they had social relations with, not through bloodline (Pers. Comm. with Angie Joseph-Rear 2018; Mishler and Semione 2004; Stern 2004).17 As late as the 1870s, the Hän came into direct contact with Western missionaries, traders and colonists. Yet manufactured trade goods and infectious diseases reached them much earlier through Indigenous trade routes. Prior to the establishment of trading posts in their territories, the Hän even benefited to a certain degree from their occupation of a central node in Indigenous distribution networks. When the Hudson’s Bay Company and American fur traders arrived, they were met by shrewd entrepreneurs and quickly became integrated into the existing Hän trade network. In 1886, a major gold discovery at Fortymile River drew hundreds of miners to this area; the settlement of Forty Mile sprang up and many Hän moved to the new community. Here, they found extra sources of income, selling meat, fish, fur and skin clothing to the newcomers. With the increase in population, however, game moved further from the Yukon River corridor, making hunting more difficult, and newcomers competed for fishing sites and firewood. Most tragically, the bane of alcohol and diseases introduced by the strangers had devastating consequences and many Hän died. Within a few years, though, life would change even more for the Hän people (Dobrowolsky 2003; Dobrowolsky and Hammer 2001; McPhee 1976; Mishler and Semione 2004).

6.2.2

The Klondike Gold Rush and the Relocation of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, 1896–1910

When in August 1896 the three Tagish people Keish (nicknamed Skookum Jim), Káa Goox (Dawson Charlie) and Shaaw Tláa (Kate Carmack) and her White husband George Carmack, discovered gold on Rabbit Creek (later renamed Bonanza Creek), they set off the greatest gold stampede in world history.18 The Klondike Gold Rush drew more than 40,000 fortune seekers to the heart of Tr’ondëk

17

This was before the existence of an enforced international border, which was established through the United States’ purchase of Alaska in 1867 as well as before the Aboriginal land claims settlements and exposure to Western concerns with genetic ways of reckoning kinship and family. Today, it is important to identify individuals as Hän, Gwich’n, or Tutchone, or to distinguish between Canadian First Nations and Alaska Native Peoples. 18 For a long time, George W. Carmack (1860–1922) was credited with the discovery of gold and registering Discovery Claim, being the only white man in the group of prospectors. In a pamphlet published in 1933, Carmack even distances himself from any First Nation relatives. Most historians today give the credit to his Indigenous brother-in-law Keish (1860–1916); see Dobrowolsky 2003, 19; Gates 2013; TK Nom 2017, 55.

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Hwëch’in territory. For the Hän, new opportunities to adapt and improve European trade items19 opened up, but it also led to the displacement from their traditional home. The newcomers arriving at the mouth of the Klondike River soon occupied or staked every available piece of ground. Prospector and businessman Joe Ladue staked the land at the confluence of the Yukon and Klondike rivers for a townsite and sold lots for up to $300 apiece. Miners who were unable to pay the inflated prices moved onto the opposite side of the Klondike River near the Hän settlement of Tr’ochëk and bought some of the Native dwellings. The Hän thought that they were selling the buildings to be moved across the river, not the land, as the idea of land as a property, parceled into small chunks to be bought and controlled by individuals, was an unknown concept to them. Confusion led to different stories of the ‘sale’ of Tr’ochëk. While some stated that their people “were cheated of their land and buildings with gold-painted rocks,” others claimed that the Hän accepted payment, “between 50 and 200 dollars, for each of their fourteen or fifteen dwellings” (Dobrowolsky 2003, 20). The situation got worse when the Hän were denied access to their village of Tr’ochëk and the resources there. In distress, they moved across the river to the south end of the new Dawson townsite, close to their traditional fishing areas. Yet, the North-West Mounted Police staked that site for a government compound and saw the Hän as undesirable neighbors. Concerned with the situation, the Anglican missionary, Bishop William Bompas, wrote to Ottawa and requested compensation for them and protection of their occupation of the new site. Federal officials felt that by restricting access to Dawson, Indigenous people were more likely to remain selfsupporting and less of a burden on the government. Finally, through negotiations by Chief Isaac,20 leader of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, with Commissioner Charles Constantine and Bishop Bompas, the Hän arranged to move to another camp, five kilometres down the Yukon River. In spring 1897, when the first wave of stampeders reached Dawson after the break-up of the Yukon River ice, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in had settled at Jëjik Ddhä Dënezhu Kek’it, which became known as Moosehide. Accounts of their move differ, naming it a forced displacement or a voluntary, selforganized relocation.21 The perspective is important, though, as it gives or takes agency and enlarges or minimizes the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in’s sphere of influence and their self-respect (Dobrowolsky 2003, 20–24; TK Nom 2017, 62–64).

19

During this time, many cross-cultural adaptations occurred as European manufactured objects recovered at Tr’ochëk were reworked into traditional types of tools, e.g., window glass fragments were made into scrapers, and copper kettles into knife handles and arrow points (Dobrowolsky and Hammer 2001, 15). 20 Chief Isaac was chief of the TH during the gold rush of the late 1890s until his death in 1932 (Dobrowolsky and Hammer 2001, 16; Neufeld 2018, 116; TH n.d.; Chief Isaac’s People of the River-homepage, http://chiefisaac.com). 21 While TH guides at the DZCC explain that the TH relocated themselves, in literature and films as in City of Gold (1957, dir. Colin Low and Wolf Koenig, 21 min.) and Dawson City: Frozen Time (2016, dir. Bill Morrison, 120 min.), the move of the Hän is viewed as relocation by the NWMP.

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The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in moved to Moosehide with their resident missionary, Reverend Frederick Flewelling, building cabins, a mission house and a church. They had to adjust quickly to the changing ways of the north, being in competition for food and resources with the miners (Green 2018). Until his death in 1932, Chief Isaac was on good terms with the newcomers, but he constantly reminded them that they gained their prosperity at the expense of his people. By taking First Nation lands, driving the game away and dispersing his people, a once prosperous people had been reduced to poverty and reliance on wage labour. In 1906, the Department of the Interior created a reserve of 160 acres on the grounds of Moosehide – enough land for settlement, but not enough to allow the people to be self-sufficient. They had to travel to obtain firewood, fish, meat and fur. Being resourceful and able to adapt to changing circumstances and technologies, they adopted new fishing methods that had been introduced by the newcomers. The following years, however, brought enormous changes to their lives, being thrust into a new economy, a new religion and an alien concept of sovereign nations and borders (Dobrowolsky 2003, 28; Neufeld 2018, 116–121). At the same time, the ancient village of Tr’ochëk became the infamous red-light district of Lousetown and later, Klondike City, an industrial suburb of Dawson City. Rafts of logs floating down the Klondike River destroyed the fish traps, and sawmills and other developments put an end to salmon fishing at this site. With the end of the Gold Rush, though, the population and production dropped, and Klondike City was virtually abandoned (Dobrowolsky and Hammer 2001, 19). Dawson City, on the other hand, prospered. After the discovery of gold, the influx of prospectors rapidly transformed the townsite, and in the 1890s, Dawson City was at the heights of its prosperity. In 1895, Inspector Charles Constantine arrived together with a number of Mounties as official representatives of the Canadian government, and, in 1898, Yukon was created as a Canadian territory. By 1900, sufficient infrastructure was in place to enable a move to large-scale industrial gold mining, engineering projects brought about the long-distance transmission of power and water, and individuals obtained large concessions of property. While individual miners moved on to other goldfields in Alaska, a dozen dredges operated by the Canadian Klondike Mining Company and the Yukon Gold Company mined tonnes of gold. The time of the ‘gumboot miners’ had come to an end; the time of the dredges had started (TK Nom 2017, 73–76; Neufeld and Habiluk 1994).

6.2.3

Silent Years After the Gold Rush, 1910–1950

Not many years after the initial gold strike at Bonanza Creek, people left the area almost as quickly as they had arrived. Diminishing returns for miners and other setbacks drove residents out of town. Moreover, major fires and a typhoid outbreak between 1898 and 1900 destroyed buildings, morale and many lives. The discovery of gold and silver in other parts of the North drew others away. By 1902, when Dawson was incorporated as a town, it had fewer than 5000 residents. The two gold

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mining companies shut down in 1923, and the Yukon Consolidated Gold Corporation (YCGC) was founded. It took over most of the claims in the Klondike region, acquired the interests of other dredging companies and controlled a number of other businesses, such as the North Fork power plant, the Klondike Mines Railway and the telephone system. ‘The Company’ became Dawson’s main economic driver and one of the territory’s largest employers.22 YCGC also provided recreational facilities by supplying garden plots and a community club and building a tennis court and a baseball diamond (TK Nom 2017, 79). Through the first half of the twentieth century, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in remained at Moosehide, seeking a balance between their traditional ways and the challenges of the new economy. Besides living on the land, people took seasonal jobs on sternwheelers, dredges, at wood camps and on the docks. The availability of manual labour led Hän men to abandon fur trapping and trading. There were also social interactions between the newcomers and the Hän. The miners held dances to which Hän women were welcome, and the Hän supplied meat for the residents of Dawson. Moosehide village life was controlled by laws that reflected an effort by Hän leaders to exert control over the movements and behaviours of men and women of the community, banning alcohol, forbidding women from interacting with non-Natives, limiting the length of time men could spend in Dawson, encouraging Hän to report transgressors to the council and imposing fines on violators. These “remarkably intrusive” laws were “intended to keep families together, limit the Moosehide people’s access to Dawson, and enforce standards of behavior,” according to Mishler and Semione (2004, 23), and Pamela Stern (2004, 365) claims that such an effort at methods of social control reflects not only “a social system out of control, but also acceptance of imported [. . .] methods for maintaining order.” For several years, the Anglican Church ran a day school at Moosehide, funded by the Department of Indian Affairs based on the number of students and days they attended. In 1903, Bishop Bompas established the Choutla School in Carcross, and parents were encouraged to send their children there, as the missionaries were able to direct the children’s educational and spiritual development more effectively if they were not interrupted by absence due to extended family trips to traplines and fish camps. In the 1930s, the existence of the day school was in question. During this time of national economic depression, the Hän had little employment and the families needed to spend their time hunting and trapping, taking their children along with them. Also, more and more children went off to residential schools in Carcross, Whitehorse and Lower Post, BC, and social problems increased. While some people adapted and thrived during this period, many look back on those years as a painful time with long-term effects that are slow to heal (Dobrowolsky 2003, 55–59; Neufeld 2018).23

22

At its peak, the YCGC operated a dozen dredges and employed 800 people. During the late 1930s and early 1940s, annual gold production reached nearly CAD 3 million (TK Nom 2017, 79). 23 Many parents in Moosehide tried to get their children back from school. On August 31, 1919, Sarah Jane Esau wrote: “Dear Bishop, I would like my daughter Gladys to come home to me now. I

6.2

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From the 1920s until the late 1950s, a series of setbacks deteriorated Dawson City’s economic base. Without an all-weather road to Dawson City, travel was impossible during winter months. The construction of the Alaska Highway24 during the Second World War established a road link to Whitehorse and in the process shifted the economic and political orientation of the territory from Dawson to the southern Yukon. Dawson became increasingly economically isolated within the territory. By 1947, only 800 people remained in Dawson, while Whitehorse had grown to 3500 and was now the hub of a railway and highway system and had an airport. Due to this economic shift, the territorial capital was moved from Dawson to Whitehorse in 1953. Without the job opportunities that government agencies provided, many residents were forced to relocate to Whitehorse. Gold mining was no longer the region’s economic mainstay, and, in 1966, YCGC shut down. With its declining population and loss of employment opportunities, Dawson City’s future appeared bleak (Morrison 1998, 108; TK Nom 2017, 80–81; Dobrowolsky 2003; Isard 2010). Indeed, Dawson was slow to recover from a depressed mining industry, the loss of its status as territorial capital and the end of the sternwheeler traffic. In the 1940s and 50 s, few people lived in Dawson year-round, and the city fell into decline. The town began looking to the many remnants of its gold rush past to draw tourists to the Klondike. Hence, members of the local community formed the Klondike Tourist Bureau in 1952, later the Klondike Visitors Association, and petitioned the Canadian government to recognize the place as a culturally and historically significant townsite. The Historic Sites and Monuments Board of Canada also recommended that the government make a commitment to preserve Dawson City’s historic buildings. Moreover, in 1958, Prime Minister John G. Diefenbaker announced his ‘Northern Vision’25 and implemented the ‘National Development Policy,’ which emphasized the economic value of the North along with plans to establish Dawson City as an administrative centre of the region. This reminded Canadians of the national historic significance of Dawson City and the Klondike Gold Rush and helped fund the restoration of a number of buildings. As a result, Parks Canada established an office and a lot of money and effort was invested in archaeology, building restoration and interpretation. Thus, in 1959, the

think she has had enough schooling. I want her home to help me; she is 13 years old. I do not want her to stay at school till she is 18; that is too long; when they are too long at school they won’t have anything to do with us; they want to be with white people; they grow away from us” (DZCC panel, 2018). 24 The Alaska Highway was built by the US government as a defence measure from Dawson Creek, BC, to Fairbanks, Alaska. Ottawa granted the Americans free hand to build the road wherever they liked, if they paid for it and turned it over to Canada at the end of the war (Morrison 1998, 133; TK Nom 2017, 80). For a general history of the Yukon, see also Coates 1985, and Coates and Morrison 2005. 25 Canadian Prime Minister John G. Diefenbaker’s ‘Northern Vision’ was a strategy to extend Canadian nationhood to the Arctic and develop its natural resources and a political, economic and ideological platform. The Department of Northern Affairs and National Development (DNANR) implemented the ‘National Development Policy’ in 1958 and announced the ‘Road to Resources’ program (Isard 2010).

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Dawson Historical Complex was declared a National Historic Site, and in 1968, Parks Canada and HSMBC, in coordination with the municipal government, were placed in charge of Dawson City’s municipal redevelopment project, which became the largest historical park established in Canada (Dobrowolsky 2003, 103; Isard 2010; TK Nom 2017). The stories told at the site celebrated the miners, entrepreneurs and dancehall girls of the Klondike gold rush, but disregarded the region’s original inhabitants, and Yukon historian David Neufeld (2016) argues: The [. . .] investment of tens of millions of dollars on the restoration of gold rush era buildings in Dawson, the refloating of a giant gold dredge and the renovation of two historic river boats commemorated the arrival and achievements of the original settler colonisers and celebrated the concurrent development of northern natural resources by their successful descendants. At the same time this commemorative juggernaut made any Aboriginal presence not only invisible but also effectively unthinkable (571).

Indeed, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and their view on history were left out of the national story. The new attention also brought tourists who took boat trips to visit Moosehide, walking around and peering into cabin windows, making the residents feel like part of an exhibit. At the same time, the Hän struggled for survival. When the school in Moosehide was closed in 1957, more children were sent to residential schools and some were even adopted out to non-Indigenous households during the so-called ‘Sixties Scoop’ (Neufeld 2018, 126). Eventually, Indigenous children were allowed to attend the Dawson Public School, and the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in gradually moved to Dawson City to live close to the school and jobs. For many people, the move to Dawson was not a positive one, though, and there were problems with what Reverend Halderby referred to as “the trials and tribulations of integration” (Dobrowolsky 2003, 100). Many Dawson residents felt uneasy about the growing number of Indigenous people now living in Dawson, which was exacerbated by health problems, especially the spread of tuberculosis. Poor fur prices, the requirement for trapline registration and the banning of marked hunting made it difficult for the Hän to earn a living on the land, and housing provided by the federal Department of Indian Affairs war substandard. It was a time of social breakdown. Additionally, after 1963 it was no longer illegal to serve alcohol to Indigenous people. Although this gave Indigenous people the same rights as other Yukoners and curtailed boot-legging, it contributed to an increase in social problems and alcohol-related deaths (Dobrowolsky 2003, 98–100; Green 2018; TK Nom 2017, 81).

6.2.4

The Path to Self-Determination and Self-Government, 1970 to 2000

Meanwhile, the political climate in Canada was changing. Despite decades of indoctrination by religious, governmental and educational institutions, the Indigenous people of the Yukon had resisted being assimilated into the dominant society. As they were forced to integrate, they both suffered and learned from the political and educational system. Over the next twenty years, the Hän, along with other

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Yukon First Nations, became increasingly vocal in demanding a fair share of the land that was once theirs, reversing decades of economic and social marginalisation in society. In the 1960s and 1970s, Yukon Indian Bands started to achieve broader recognition of their rights and set the land-claims process in motion. In 1968, they established the Yukon Native Brotherhood to pursue a settlement with Canada, and in 1973, a delegation of Yukon First Nations presented Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau with the document, Together Today for Our Children Tomorrow: A Statement of Grievances and an Approach to Settlement by the Yukon Indian People. This was the first comprehensive land claim submitted to the Canadian government by any Indigenous group, the purpose of which was “to enable the Indian people in the Yukon to live and work together on equal terms with the Whiteman” (CYI 1977, 25). Neufeld (2016) names this pioneering declaration “a powerful statement for a reimagining of Yukon society” and “a call for a respectful plural society with two cultures working together each in their own way and each to their own ends” (573–574), which served as a basis for the following dialogues. After many years of negotiations, the historic Umbrella Final Agreement (UFA) was reached in 1988. Signed by the Council for Yukon Indians,26 the Government of Canada and the Government of Yukon, it is the overall ‘umbrella’ agreement of the Yukon Land Claims package. While it is not a legal document, it represents a political agreement made between the three parties and served as a framework within which each of the 14 Yukon First Nations would negotiate individual final land claim settlement agreements and paved the way towards reconciliation and positive change for all Yukoners. In 1993, the Yukon Land Claims Agreement-In-Principle was signed by representatives from the Governments of Canada and Yukon and the Council for Yukon Indians. Since then, 11 out of 14 Yukon First Nations27 have negotiated ground-breaking land claims and self-government agreements and the federal Indian Act no longer applies to them. All the First Nation Final Agreements28 contain the text of the Umbrella Final Agreement with the addition of specific provisions which apply to the individual First Nation. The agreements specify the collaboration of the federal, territorial and First Nation governments that are working together on areas of mutual concern, such as heritage, education, social programs and natural resources (YFNSG 2016). 26

In 1980, the Council for Yukon Indians, today known as the Council of Yukon First Nations (CYFN, www.cyfn.ca) was formed as an association to negotiate land claims. 27 In the Yukon, the First Nations people are represented by 14 Nations: Carcross/Tagish, Champagne/Aishihik Kluane, Kwanlin Dun, Liard, Little Salmon/Carmacks, Na-Cho Nyak Dun, Ross River Dena, Selkirk, Ta’an Kwach’an, Teslin Tlingit, Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, Vuntut Gwich’in, White River (YFN Tourism Adventures 2021, http://yfnta.org). 28 Final Agreements are constitutionally protected, modern-day treaties. They define First Nations rights on Settlement Land, and within their Traditional Territory, address heritage, fish and wildlife, non-renewable resources, water management, forestry, taxation, financial compensation, economic development measures and land owned and managed by the First Nation. Self-Government Agreements provide First Nations with the power to control and direct their own affairs, define laws and decision-making powers, and outline the ability of a First Nation to assume responsibility for delivering a program or service to its citizens (YFNSG 2016).

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The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in joined other Yukon First Nations in starting land claims negotiations in the 1970s. For the people, the land claims process offered an opportunity to rediscover their heritage, much of which had been lost or ignored during colonial times. Elders started sharing their knowledge on traditional sites and land use, and their memories and stories about the past were recorded and compiled. They worked with archaeologists to identify significant sites and reconstruct the activities that once took place there, with younger people to document traditional trails, camps and fishing sites within the traditional territory, and with linguists to document their language. Their efforts paid off, and in 1975 Tr’ochëk was identified as a significant cultural site (Dobrowolsky 2003, 102). In 1991, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in began negotiating their individual land claim. In 1997, they announced that, as part of their land claim agreement, the Canadian government had purchased all mining interests on the site of Tr’ochëk for approximately one million dollars and the ancient village of Tr’ochëk was to be protected “for all time” as TH settlement land and a heritage site under the final agreement. In 1998, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Final Agreement (THFA) and the Self-Government Agreement were signed. With the signing of these agreements, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in became the owners of approximately 2600 km2 of land within their traditional territory and benefited from CAD 21,811,002 of compensation over 15 years (CYFN 2021). Since then, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have been meeting the challenges of creating a new level of government and have a direct say in managing resources within their traditional territory.

6.2.5

Envisioning the Future: Into the Twenty-First Century

Today, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have become an integral part of the Dawson City community. The citizenship of the Nation of roughly 1100 includes descendants of the Hän-speaking people, and a diverse mix of families descended from Gwich’in, Northern Tutchone and other language groups (CYFN 2021).29 The First Nation is governed by an elected Chief and four councillors who rely on direction from the Elders’ Council.30 The General Assembly (all voting-age citizens) gather once a year to pass extraordinary resolutions, approve legislation and provide direction to political leaders. The TH government consists of eight departments, including Administration, Finance, Wellness (Health and Social), Heritage, Housing and Infrastructure, Human Resources and Education, Implementation, and Natural Resources. With 80 full-time permanent and more than 200 seasonal staff within the TH government, it is currently the largest employer in Dawson City, which

29

In 1999, the registered population of the TH First Nation was 614 with about 420 people living off reserve or crown land and some in other communities; in 2019, 856 people were registered (INAC 2018; Fred 2006). 30 For more information, see the homepage of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in at https://trondek.ca.

6.2

The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in: A History of a People and a Place

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brings many responsibilities and expectations. It has also been investing significant resources in residential, public and commercial development in Dawson City. Their economic development branch, Chief Isaac Group of Companies, was created in 1984 to handle various business endeavours of the TH and establish local businesses to employ Indigenous people (Chief Isaac Inc. https://chiefisaac.ca/; TK Nom 2017, 86–87). Besides, the TH have negotiated and enacted tax-sharing arrangements with the governments of Canada and Yukon, and residents on TH Settlement Land pay personal income tax and GST to the TH First Nation (Dobrowolsky 2003, 111–112). When many Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in citizens moved from Moosehide Village to Dawson City in the 1950s, they took up residence at the north end of town. In recent decades, the TH government has constructed new homes and apartment buildings in the area, voluntarily following the Dawson historical building guidelines. Both Indigenous and non-Indigenous residents have been living here for many years, and the north end is still home to a few Gold Rush-era cabins as well as the oldest cemetery in Dawson. Today, many Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in also live in the Tr’ondëk Subdivision, a contemporary neighbourhood developed by the TH First Nation and located beyond the southern tip of the Dawson townsite, close to the ancestral fish camp of Tr’ochëk. Built on the flattened tailing piles left behind by the gold dredges, the subdivision “helps to reclaim an area of cultural importance for the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and reaffirms their connection to nearby Tr’ochëk, while adding yet another layer of history to the banks of the Klondike River” (TK Nom 2017, 46; see Fig. 6.16). With Yukon government support, efforts were made to document and preserve Hän culture by initiatives such as a language education program and the restoration of the private dwellings and public structures at Moosehide. Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in cultural renewal is increasingly finding expression across the townscape – through the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre, the TH government buildings and the Tr’ondëk Subdivision, which can be seen as a reclamation of this historically significant area. Collectively, these buildings demonstrate the strong and enduring presence of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in in the community and the authority to self-govern within their traditional territory. The centre of activity for the TH Government is the TH Administration Building located at Front Street (see Fig. 6.3). Adjacent and connected to the Administration Building is the TH Community Hall. Close by are the Community Support Centre and the Tr’inke Zho daycare, where the children are cared for in an environment rich in Hän culture and heritage. This ensemble of TH government buildings, together with the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre, is located within a two-block area in the centre of Dawson City and creates a strong architectural presence and expression of Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in culture and values in the Dawson streetscape, which is also seen in heritage management.

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Fig. 6.3 Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in government building in Dawson City. (Photo by Susemihl)

6.3

Management, Ownership and Protection of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike

Owning about a quarter of the property nominated in 2017, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in are a key player in the management of different sites within the Tr’ondëk-Klondike property. Consequently, they determine which of ‘their’ sites need to be protected, and in what ways. This situation constitutes a powerful position within the framework of World Heritage. Moreover, when the TH government passed the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage Act in 2016, they defined heritage in much broader terms than Western concepts do, laying the foundation for recognizing and conserving their heritage. This section gives an overview of ownership and management structures of the different sites within the nominated property, specifically outlining Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in heritage sites and their management, and discusses the TH Heritage Act as a major tool for the management and conservation of Indigenous heritage.

6.3.1

Management and Ownership of the Sites Within the Proposed Property

In Yukon Territory, four levels of government operate under federal, territorial, First Nations and municipal jurisdiction. As a result, responsibility for the management of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike property as nominated in 2017 is shared among these four levels of government. Regulation of land use, planning and development is also a multi-jurisdictional effort, including managing contemporary activities related to the property, such as placer mining and salmon fishing. Most of the land included in the

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Management, Ownership and Protection of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike

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nominated property (76 %) is territorial Crown land under the jurisdiction of the Yukon Government and managed by different departments. The territorial government is, thus, responsible for the protection and management of heritage resources on Crown lands, the designation and commemoration of historic places with heritage and cultural values, the regulation of the mining industry and the maintenance of infrastructure to ensure access to and within the nominated property. About 22 percent of the nominated property is owned by Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, which includes constitutionally protected TH-owned lands referred to as ‘Settlement Lands.’ Located on a Yukon Government heritage reserve, the Forty Mile, Fort Cudahy and Fort Constantine Historic Site (Ch’edahchek kek’it) is co-owned, co-managed and co-financed by the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in31 and Yukon Government under the terms of the TH Final Agreement and the Historic Resources Act. Less than one percent of lands included in the nominated property is federal Crown land, all of which is managed by Parks Canada under the administrative umbrella of Klondike National Historic Sites. Finally, the City of Dawson and private individuals, businesses and organizations own less than one percent of the nominated property, respectively. Ownership of most of the land within municipal boundaries is held by the Yukon government or private citizens, all of which are subject to heritage and zoning bylaws and the Dawson City Heritage Management Plan (TK Nom 2017, 225–228). The inscription of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike World Heritage site was not meant to confer any new legislative protection to the nominated property. Four levels of government – federal, territorial, First Nation and municipal – would “work cooperatively to ensure the protection and effective management of the nominated property and its associated heritage resources” (TK Nom 2017, 247). The property would, therefore, be protected by a large framework of legislation and numerous existing plans and policies implemented by various government authorities.32 Many sites within the property have a long record of protection through designation, providing various levels of protections and fiscal opportunities or incentives for conservation, documentation and planning. Management plans, policies and

31

In 2015–16, YG and TK collectively spent CAD 185,000 on research, interpretation, improvements, preservation and maintenance of the site; for more information on Forty Mile, see Hammer and Thomas 2006; TH 2011a. 32 Legislation and policy related to the management of Tr’ondëk-Klondike include federal legislation and policy such as the Fisheries Act (1985), the Historic Sites and Monuments Act (1985), the Parks Canada Agency Act (1998), the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Final Agreement (1998) and SelfGovernment Agreement (1998), the Umbrella Final Agreement (1993), and the Yukon Environmental and Socio-economic Assessment Act (2003). The relevant territorial legislation includes the Historic Resources Act (2002) and Archaeological Sites Regulation (2003), the Placer Mining Act (2003) and Placer Mining Land Use Regulation (2003), among others. First Nations legislation that apply to the nominated property are the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Land and Resources Act (2004), the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Fish and Wildlife Act (2009), and the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage Act (2016). Municipal bylaws the City of Dawson Heritage and Zoning Bylaws (2009, 2013) are also in effect. Further acts concerned with land and resources are in place, as well (TK Nom 2017, 228–237 and Appendix D of nomination).

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guidelines from Parks Canada, the Yukon Government, Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and the City of Dawson provide direction and management for them (TK Nom 2017, 247–255).33 To complement the existing management plans of various jurisdictions by consolidating the management, monitoring and reporting processes needed to protect, present, and promote the proposed OUV of the nominated property, a Tr’ondëkKlondike World Heritage Site Management Plan was written (TKWH SB 2017; TK Nom 2017, 249–259). It was to integrate the existing management plans and other relevant legislative, regulatory, institutional and traditional management tools used by federal, territorial, municipal and First Nations bodies in their respective jurisdictions within and around the nominated property. It was also to set out agreed objectives, policies and programs for the future management, protection and promotion of the nominated property. It exceeded the parties’ respective standards of protection, conservation and presentation, outlined a process of communication and collaboration and recognized that designation of the property should support ongoing economic viability, diversity and opportunities for residents in a manner consistent with maintaining the Outstanding Universal Value and local stewardship. Additionally, a Memorandum of Understanding Concerning the Joint Management and Protection of the Proposed Tr’ondëk-Klondike World Heritage Site (MOU) among the partners responsible for the management was to be ratified, outlining the roles and responsibilities of each partner in the implementation of the Management Plan and establishing a Stewardship Board (ibid.). Implementation of the Management Plan and governance of Tr’ondëk-Klondike were to be the responsibility of a community-based Stewardship Board. The participatory governance model of the Stewardship Board reflects years of collaborative research and consultation by stakeholder and community members in preparation of the nomination proposal and Management Plan. The strong relationships built during those years would have continued to guide the monitoring and promotion of the site’s OUV. The Stewardship Board was to be composed of the government signatories to the MOU (PC, YG, TH and the City of Dawson) as well as representatives from the Klondike Visitors Association, the Klondike Placer Miners’ Association, Yukon Chamber of Mines and the Dawson City Museum. These regional stakeholder organizations have supported and advised the World Heritage nomination process as members of the Advisory Committee and they were to continue to help guide the presentation, promotion and development of the nominated property (TK Nom 2017, 258). In terms of funding there is no dedicated source for the nominated property as a new and separate entity. Financial responsibilities for management and maintenance were meant to be shared between the four governmental partners. Parks Canada is

33

Designation types include (a) Federal: National Historic Sites, Federal Heritage Building Review Office Classified and recognized Heritage Buildings; (b) Territorial: Yukon Historic Sites; (c) First Nation: Recognized Heritage Sites and Routes per the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Final Agreement; and (d) Municipal: Municipal Historic Sites (TK Nom 2017, 237 and Appendix F of nomination).

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Management, Ownership and Protection of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike

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responsible for the operation of Klondike National Historic Sites (i.e., repair, maintenance and staff); Yukon Government provides funding for various sites and programs within the nominated property.34 Ongoing operational funding will also be necessary for the Stewardship Board to hire a Site Management Coordinator after inscription and to undertake joint initiatives in promotion, interpretation, monitoring and reporting for the World Heritage site (TK Nom 2017, 261–262). Sources of expertise and training in conservation and management techniques are also split between all four partners. Parks Canada and the YG contribute to the management of heritage resources through financial resources and staff expertise in a wide variety of fields, though.

6.3.2

The Management of Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage Sites

There were two recognized TH heritage sites, Forty Mile or Ch’ëdähchëk kek’it and Tr’ochëk, and one route, Moosehide Trail, that contributed to the 2017 proposed OUV of the nominated property. All three sites have been the subject of a high level of research, documentation and monitoring, and are governed by management plans. Moosehide Trail is an ancient, 4.5-km-long footpath that connects Dawson City with Moosehide, one of the oldest inhabited sites within TH traditional territory, with archaeological evidence dating back 8000 years and a rich oral history. The site of Forty Mile, Fort Cudahy and Fort Constantine Historic Site35 has heritage and cultural values that are significant on a local and territorial level and relate to TH

34 Parks Canada has assigned an annual budget of CAD 430,000 for the operation of Klondike National Historic Sites, extra funding for special projects (CAD 500,000 to CAD 7 million), and salaries for 35 full-time and seasonal positions. Annual spending on capital maintenance and restoration for YG-owned historic sites total CAD 315,000, and YG’s Historic Sites and Heritage Resources units spend CAD 130,000 on interpretation, research, permits and monitoring. Additionally, the YG provides core funding to the Dawson City Museum and the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre (CAD 225,000 annually), and an annual average of CAD 30,000 to private property owners, the City of Dawson and Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in. The City of Dawson spends money for repair and maintenance of historic buildings and Mino Park Historic Site; the annual costs associated with the Community Development Officer position and the Heritage Advisory Committee average CAD 130,000 (TK Nom 2017, 261–263). 35 The historic settlement of Forty Mile is located at the confluence of two major rivers, the Fortymile and the Yukon. The site used to be a pre-contact fishing camp and an important stop in the TH seasonal round. For over 2000 years, First Nations people have come here to hunt, fish, trade and visit. It was one of the first major contact points between First Nations people and the newcomers to the upper Yukon River valley. It is also the location of the first Yukon town after the discovery of gold along the Fortymile River in 1886, and was established ten years before the Klondike Gold Rush and the building of Dawson City. Its historic townsite consisted of a church, a log roadhouse, a warehouse, and a cemetery. The historic site also has two other parts that are located across the river: Fort Cudahy, a trading post established in 1893, and Fort Constantine, the Yukon’s first North-West Mounted Police post, built in 1895. All the sites are still in use today (TK Nom 2017, 19–23).

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heritage and culture and the Klondike Gold Rush. Managed under Yukon’s Historic Resources Act according to jointly developed Management, Interpretive and Cultural Resource Management Plans, annual assessment and reporting are completed for the site by the TH36 and Yukon Government (TK Nom 2017, 19–23, 246). Finally, Tr’ochëk National Historic Site is owned and managed by the TH. The importance of the site is formally recognized through the TH Final Agreement and its designation as a National Historic Site, for which TH and PC representatives have been working together to develop a management plan. Overall, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Nation is responsible for managing heritage resources on its Settlement Lands and within its traditional territory that are directly related to TH culture and history. It oversees the protection and conservation of a number of heritage sites and routes, as well as the living village of Moosehide that are recognized and protected under the TH Final Agreement (see Fig. 6.4). For more than twenty years, the THFA and the TH Self-Government Agreement are living documents that continue to guide every aspect of TH government policy and operations, and trilateral working groups continue to negotiate the implementation of each section of the agreements. Heritage management in areas of the nominated property under TH jurisdiction continues to evolve with the development of TH legislation and best practices. Additionally, the recent Tr’ondek Hwech’in Heritage Act clarifies and augments existing legislation such as Yukon’s Historic Resources Act. Archaeological and historic sites located on Settlement Lands or TH traditional

Fig. 6.4 Sign at Moosehide Trail for tourists. (Photo by Susemihl)

36 In 2015–16, YG and TH collectively spent CAD 185,000 on research, interpretation, site improvements, and site preservation and maintenance of the sites (TK Nom 2017, 262).

6.3

Management, Ownership and Protection of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike

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territory are managed under the TH Final Agreement with further protection and management through the TH Heritage Act, TH Land and Resources Act and Land Based Heritage Resource Policy. Besides the THFA, other TH legislation and policies provide guidance for the care of heritage sites and routes. The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Land and Resources Act and the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Fish and Wildlife Act each respectively confirm the rights of Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in people to use and occupy Settlement Land and waters for traditional activities and subsistence harvesting. The Natural Resources Department leads the implementation of those acts and works with DFO to conserve and monitor the Indigenous fishery on the Yukon River. The TH Land and Resources Act also reinforces the First Nation’s obligation as a land manager to protect heritage resources. Archaeological research or excavations, among other land-use activities, require a TH Land Use Permit to be issued by the Natural Resources Department. Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in closely monitors development and land use that may impact its Settlement Lands and traditional territory through Yukon’s development assessment process under YESAA, and it engages with the mining community and other development proponents to encourage understanding of TH values (TK Nom 2017, 243–245). Within the TH government the Heritage Department is responsible for managing, protecting and presenting heritage resources on Settlement Land and TH traditional territory. This includes land-based research, protection of traditional knowledge, archaeology projects, documentation of oral histories, storage of heritage material, development of significant heritage sites, Hän language documentation, programming and operation of the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre and co-management of Forty Mile. Furthermore, TH maintains an inventory of geo-referenced locales and sites of cultural importance including archaeological sites, built heritage and cultural-use sites. These sites are periodically monitored, and many have been subject to TH-led research and documentation projects. Likewise, the TH Natural Resources Department has expertise in management and conservation of the salmon fishery, as well as geographic information system analysis and cartography, which aids heritage planning and reporting. A number of informal sources of training and knowledge supplement the formal expertise and knowledge. In that respect, Elders, miners and other residents play key roles in passing on skills and traditions, locating and identifying heritage resources on the land, observing and monitoring changes to the condition of such resources and sharing information with government authorities. In that way, knowledge of the land and appropriate conservation practices are passed on to future generations in several ways (TK Nom 2017, 264–266). For its numerous programs within the nominated property, the TH Heritage Department has an annual operating budget of 1.3 million dollars. Annual spending includes heritage site management, research and field work, Hän language documentation and education, land-based cultural camps, school outreach, collection management and exhibits, traditional knowledge protection, heritage governance, planning, staffing and operating the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre and hosting the biennial Moosehide Gathering. Likewise, the Natural Resources department invests CAD 60,000 annually on management of the salmon fishery, including research,

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river patrols, salmon harvest, cultural camps, updates to regulations and engagement with environmental assessment processes (TK Nom 2017, 262). Usually, the Yukon government does not get involved with TH projects on Settlement Land, unless upon request. For the co-managed sites, though, the TH and YG work together to develop a plan for conservation, and decisions are reached jointly, while both sides contribute financing (Interview with Hogan 2018). Generally, regional planning processes or the development of land-use plans need to be approved be the affected First Nations.37

6.3.3

The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage Act

In 2016, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Nation passed the Heritage Act – the very first of its kind for Yukon First Nations, affirming their inherent right to define their heritage, culture, history and values. It ensures the management, preservation and promotion of TH heritage in and on their traditional territory in a manner that is consistent with Yukon First Nations values, the TH Final Agreement and their inherent rights. The act supersedes existing legislation regarding heritage resources in the Yukon, articulates Yukon First Nations values and principles related to heritage, and provides definitions required for the implementation of the act. It also lays out a process for resolving disputes over ownership of heritage resources between the TH and other Yukon First Nations, and between the TH and other governments, regarding the stewardship and management of heritage resources (TH 2016b, 4; YFN 2018). The act was developed collectively by citizens, Elders and TH government staff and in collaboration with other Yukon First Nations and is the seventh act created by TH since it became a self-governing First Nation in 1997. The director of the TH Heritage Department, Debbie Nagano, emphasises that “with every new piece of legislation, our First Nation gets stronger and closer to realizing the selfgovernment agreements” (Nagano, quoted in Kawaja 2016). The act provides direction for the management of Yukon First Nations heritage and culture, in order to: (1) recognize and affirm the inherent right of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in over its heritage and culture; (2) recognize and affirm the TH Self-government Agreement Section 13 powers over Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in heritage and culture; (3) recognize the uniqueness of Yukon First Nations concepts of heritage; and (4) fulfil the TH Final Agreement Chapter 13 provisions to respect and foster the culture, history and values of Yukon First Nations People (TH 2016b, 1). The act gives chief and council the ability to make regulations regarding heritage stewardship and

37 The Umbrella Final Agreement introduced a new process for regional land-use planning in Yukon. Regional land-use plans are written by commissions appointed by Yukon’s Minister of Energy, Mines and Resources, consisting of individuals nominated by the Yukon Government and the First Nation(s), whose traditional territory falls within the planning region (TK Nom 2017, 249).

6.3

Management, Ownership and Protection of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike

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management as well as development within TH traditional territory, and, most importantly, the ability to define TH heritage. Nagano comments that “most western governments take a narrower view of what a heritage resource is than First Nations do” (ibid.). For the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, heritage includes history, but also living culture and how it transmits through stories and families. The act defines heritage as “a way of life”, as the following passage of the act concerning “Yukon First Nations Way of Life, Traditional Laws and Core Values Pertaining to Heritage – Way of Life Summary” shows: Our heritage is a way of life in which knowledge and understanding of history, culture, and survival is passed on from generation to generation by parents and Elders. The oral, cultural, experience-on-the-land basis of our heritage makes it flexible, adaptive and evolving. It is a dynamic, living heritage and culture based on traditions which are shaped by our history in a harsh environment. Balancing tradition and adaptability has ensured our survival. In our way, change and adaptation are aspects of our laws, practices and values that have guided and protected us for millennia. Our sense of relationship and relatedness is distinct from the Western concept of autonomous individuality. Our way of life includes relationships with people, other animals, plants, the spirit world, and the land – rivers, lakes, mountains, wetlands, etc. All parts of the land are interdependent. The land is central to our identity; it is the source of life; we understand ourselves as part of the land, related to the entire natural environment and to everything in it. In our way, we see the interconnectedness of all aspects of life. Everything is imbued with spirit. Our kinship ties are based on people who honour the same relationships, and are not dependent on blood relations, language, or geography. Our concept of relatedness underlies our stewardship responsibilities to one another, to our heritage, and to the land. Our law requires us to respect and honour our heritage, practices and protocols, including respect for the land and acceptance of our stewardship responsibilities towards it. Our heritage is our way of life as part of the land. In our way we do not divide heritage into separate categories. What we consider directly related to our history and culture is not affected by western classification (TH Heritage Act 2016, 2–3).

In the act, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in describe their universal, all-embracing and complex perception of heritage, which seems to be much wider than a Western approach to heritage (see Chap. 2). It inserts the idea of ‘all relations’ into a political document, giving the concept of interconnectedness a strong foundation for political action. This concept has been expressed in many Indigenous languages for devising new approaches to imagining people’s past, present and future, and novelist Thomas King defines this expression with the following words: First a reminder of who we are and of our relationship with both our family and our relatives. It also reminds us of the extended relationship we share with all human beings. But the relationships [. . .] go further, the web of kinship to animals, to the birds, to the fish, to the plants, to all the animate and inanimate forms that can be seen or imagined (King 1990, ix).

The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have a broad definition and perception of what heritage is and what it includes. To them heritage “is not something from the past, but a way of life reflected in the beliefs, values, knowledge, and practices passed from generation to generation” (TH 2011b, 8). It permeates all aspects of Indigenous lives, communities and governance and includes much more than the material remains that are left behind. These heritage resources are understood as physical reminders of what is

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truly important, and the “oral, cultural, experience-on-the-land basis” of TH heritage makes it “flexible, adaptive and evolving” (ibid.). The Heritage Department leads the implementation of the TH Heritage Act and the recognition, conservation and promotion of TH heritage resources and values. The TH have been embracing “a dynamic, living heritage and culture based on traditions” (ibid.) which are shaped by their history and a struggle for self-determination, and started to take over the interpretation and storytelling of their heritage.

6.4

Visitors’ Views and Resource Management: Klondike Tourism and Mining

Once, the lure of gold drew thousands of men, and some women, to the Klondike region, the traditional home of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, and the Klondike Gold Rush turned Dawson City into a bustling commercial centre, the largest city north of Seattle and west of Winnipeg. Today, every summer, tens of thousands of people from all over the world stampede into Dawson, looking for a ‘real’ Klondike experience that includes cultural encounters with Indigenous people, wilderness adventures and myths. Dawson City and the Klondike continue to thrive on a combination of old and new economies, with placer mining and tourism continuing to be the key industries. After decades of promoting its frontier Gold Rush past, though, this unique region is now successfully sharing older stories and enriching the Klondike’s heritage by several thousand years of human activity. Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in heritage is interwoven with the gold rush and modern history “to form a deeper and richer mosaic of Tr’ondëk-Klondike culture,” in which all elements are “firmly rooted in a strong sense of place and interlinking stories” (TK Nom 2017, 97). In that respect, the World Heritage nomination is a chance for the TH to intensify their messages and describe the dramatic changes of their life during the time of the gold rush. Having been left out of the story for a century, they are now writing their history back into the books, countering the myths of the Klondike, which supports their cultural renewal and spiritual wellbeing as a Nation. Besides tourism, active placer mining has been another important industry of the region. Located within the boundaries of the property proposed in 2017, it has also been a controversial issue in the nomination of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike. While Canada aimed for an inscription as a developing landscape, believing the continuation of placer mining is a tradition and heritage value that should be celebrated and preserved, the concept seemed to be difficult for UNESCO. Moreover, for the different stakeholders in Dawson City, the issue of inscription is full of controversy. While some see mining as destroying the land, others claim that it reshapes the land, which recovers itself and needs to be open to development. Taking a closer look at tourism and mining, this section investigates who visits the region, discovers the underlying myths of the Klondike, outlines TH participation in tourism and explores the issue of mining connected to the World Heritage site proposed in 2017.

6.4

Visitors’ Views and Resource Management: Klondike Tourism and Mining

6.4.1

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Public Perception: The Living Myth of the Klondike Gold Rush

Dawson City lives and breathes the rich history of its past. It is one of the most evocative symbols of the Klondike Gold Rush and a major contributor to the story of this iconic event and its enduring impact on both the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and newcomers alike. The story of the rush is a mystery involving ‘true frontier spirit’ and freedom, and the journalist Rich Mole believes it to be one of the greatest events on the American continent in the nineteenth century: The Klondike Gold Rush was a fitting climax to a tumultuous century, a period of significant social and technological advancements, wars and insurrections, and natural and man-made disasters. Yet so significant was the Klondike Gold Rush that in the century that followed, no continental event – including Pancho Villa’s Mexican Revolution – rivaled its impact. With the exception of the American Civil War, the Klondike Gold Rush was the big story (Mole 2006, 142).

The nomination of 2017 draws heavily on the rush’s cultural legacy. For the storytelling of the proposed World Heritage site this is appealing and problematic at the same time. While it draws visitors, it reinforces stereotypes and images of the Klondike and excludes other stories. During the Klondike Gold Rush between 1896 and 1898, people from all over the world travelled to the Klondike in search of gold or adventures, and Dawson City erupted, overflowing with a transient population of 40,000. Overnight, it evolved from a mining camp into a boom town, the facades of Victorian elegance masking plank board constructions on a swamp.38 During these years, everything was constantly shifting and the town changed its shape “daily, almost hourly” (Berton 1983, 125). The story of the Klondike Gold Rush was quickly communicated and has been repeatedly narrated for over a century. The early twentieth-century writers Jack London and Robert Service found their inspiration in it, and many other works of Klondike-inspired literature followed. Today the story of the rush continues to be among the most voluminously (and frequently inaccurately) reported events in modern history. Dawson City’s very own historian Pierre Berton (1954 (2007), 1958 (2010), 1972 (2001)) has written a number of books about his hometown

38

Historical accounts describe Dawson City as a bustling city. American author and explorer Mary E. Hitchcock, who travelled to the Klondike in 1898, wrote in her account of the journey: “Here is Dawson at last. No picture we have seen, no description we have read or heard, compare with the reality” (Hitchcock 1899, 99). The New York journalist Tappan Adney, who was dispatched to the Yukon in 1897, wrote: “As one walked for the first time down the smoothly beaten street, it was an animated scene, and one upon which the new-comer gazed with wonder” (Adney 1900 (1994), 181). John Sidney Webb, writing for Century Magazine, described the town as a jumble of people and things: “Helter-skelter, in a marsh, lies this collection of odds and ends of houses and habitations [. . .] A row of barrooms called Front Street; the side streets deep in mud; the river bank a mass of miners’ boats, Indian canoes, and logs; the screeching of the sawmill; the dismal tuneless scraping of the violin of the dancehalls [. . .] all of this rustling made the scene more like the outside of a circus tent” (Webb 1898, 683).

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and kept the spark of the phenomenon alive. The Klondike Gold Rush became also the most photographed event of its time and photographs and other images helped to visualize and spread the myth. The magic of the North and the Klondike in its beauty and horror is a cultivated and well-kept theme, and images of the North overlap with the idea of Manifest Destiny and connections to the California Gold Rush, according to museologist Alex Somerville: “There is an unmistakably American bias to that particular myth. A contemporary Canadian myth of the Northern Empire has apparently died and is no longer current. The hegemonic American myth has been subsumed to the Canadian consciousness” (Interview with Somerville 2018). Klondike-influenced fiction crosses genres and speaks to the enduring appeal of Northern themes such as selfreliance, endurance, courage and frontier culture (Berton 1960; Giehmann 2011). In it, the North appears as frontier, as an Eldorado, a blank space, a projection space for ideologies of White masculinity and wilderness. Many writers, journalists, poets, entertainers, film makers and other artists are still fascinated by the subject, and there are countless novels, non-fiction, memoirs, diaries, travel writing,39 feature films, documentaries and TV series40 that continue to inspire people’s imagination of the myth of the Klondike that were also compiled for the World Heritage nomination.41 From the very beginning, however, the Gold Rush and the idea of Dawson City was a myth, founded on imagination and grounded in speculation (Haskell 1898; Wells 1984). This imagery and mythology of the Klondike lives on today and has contributed to a process of commoditization that Jarvenpa (1994, 29) calls

39 There is a vast amount of Klondike-fiction, for example, by Kroetsch 1998; London 1903 (2001), 1906 (1997); Michener 1988; Roper 1899; and Wiebe 1984. Non-fiction writing concentrating on specific issues includes Backhouse 2010, 1995; Gray 2010; and Mayer 1989. For memoires and travel writing, see, among others, Anzer 1959; Baird 1965; Berton 1951; Degraf and Brown 1992; Dietz 1914 (2016); Graham 1935; Lynch 1904 (2016); Norris 1947; Pike 1896; Price 1898; Procter 1975; Spurr 1900; Tollemache 1912; Tyrell 1938; and Wiedemann 1942. 40 Popular feature films on the Klondike and/or Yukon include The Gold Rush (1925, dir. Charlie Chaplin, 95 min), The Call of the Wild (1923, dir. Fred Jackman; 1972, dir. Ken Annakin, 103 min., and 1997, dir. Peter Svatek, 91 min.), Death Hunt (1981, dir. Peter Hunt, 97 min), The Shooting of Dan McGrew (1915, dir. Herbert Blaché; 1924, dir. Clarence G. Badger, 70 min.) and The Far Country (1954, dir. Anthony Mann, 97 min.). Popular TV series are Sergeant Preston of the Yukon (1955–58), Klondike (2014, dir. Simon C. Jones) and Gold Rush (2010–2021). Documentaries include In the Days of the Riverboats (1981, 18 min.) and City of Gold (1957, dir. Colin Low and Wolf Koenig, 21 min.), both produced by the National Film Board of Canada and shown at the Visitor Information Centre in Dawson City, and Dawson City: Frozen Time (2016, dir. Bill Morrison, 120 min.), Klondike Promises (2012, dir. Julie Plourde, 42 min.) The Spell of the Yukon (1996, dir. Rita Roy, 43 min.), picking up on the Klondike Gold Rush and the legends still vibrant in the territory. In 1997, the Northern Native Broadcasting Yukon and the Council of Yukon First Nations developed a video series called A Long Journey Home (1997, dir. Rob Smith, 215 min.) that takes its audience on a journey though the history of Yukon’s Indigenous peoples and their land claims. 41 Appendix I to the 2017 Nomination – “Key Published Works Related to the Nominated Property,” compiled by Sally Robinson (2016) – lists fiction, non-fiction, travel literature and other publications on the Klondike.

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‘Klondikephilia’ (Nuttal 1998). Somerville has been interested in this “facet of the history of the Klondike”: The fascinating thing [. . .] is that the Klondike is a myth; people in the gold rush were living a myth; the Klondike was born as a myth. The whole thing was a performance from the beginning. It began affectively with a vision, not based on knowledgeability. [. . .] The perpetuated myth, the myth that people still treasure before they even come here [. . .] is, I think, very similar to the one that was being circulated in 1897 and 1898 and subsequently, and it’s not at all correct (Interview with Somerville 2018).

Indeed, the myth of the Klondike Gold Rush has not changed much; according to a tourist brochure, Dawson still “bustles with the rebellious and wild spirit of the gold rush” (YG 2018a, 53). Today, the gold rush story is omnipresent in the town and Parks Canada supports this notion. Described as a living museum, the city’s boardwalk-lined streets and historic buildings tell stories of the past, as do Parks Canada’s costumed interpreters. Commercial buildings with boomtown false fronts and the names of hotels, restaurants and stores spread the gold rush charm.42 Visitors can pan for gold in the creeks, enjoy the entertainment at Diamond Tooth Gerties, Canada’s first casino, and explore the historic industrial mining camp at Bear Creek Compound that with its nature, buildings and equipment in situ “evokes a powerful and haunting sense of place and history” (TK Nom 2017, 32).43 Gold Rush rhetoric is also used in advertisements and flyers for historic sites, restaurants, tours and programs. One booklet invites tourists to “relive the Klondike Gold Rush,” “celebrate the lives and stories of the Klondike,” and visit places “where the Klondike Gold Rush is kept alive.” The language of the brochures is peppered with superlatives, selling the image of an exotic North, stirring expectations and preparing the visitor for the “larger-than-life” experience of exploring the region. Driving the scenic routes, the tourists become “amazed” and “dumfounded” by “Yukon’s natural wonders and iconic experiences,” when they “wander in wonder on pioneer trails” (YG 2018b, 2–6). And the Yukon 2018 Vacation Planner contains a list of iconic drives and vibrant communities and beckons: Ever wish you could have been there, sharing the Yukon pioneer experience? In today’s Yukon, you still can. Channel the pioneering spirit as you ride the gold rush train, tour the paddlewheelers or stand on Discovery Claim – Yukon’s hallowed ground. Then stroll the fabled streets of Dawson, enter the historic sites and walk where the legends walked. Your adventure starts where the world’s last great adventure left off (YG 2018b, 14).

42 There are, for example, the Eldorado Hotel, the Bunkhouse, Klondike Kate’s Restaurant, Sourdough Joe’s Restaurant, Gold Village Chinese Restaurant, Bonanza Market, Klondike Nugget & Ivory Shop, Cheechakos Bake Shop, Klondike Cream & Candy, Maximilian’s Gold Rush Emporium, and Gold Trail Jewellers. 43 From 1905 to 1966, the camp was the centre of an integrated network built to support mechanized gold mining using a fleet of dredges. Today it is a relic site, owned by Parks Canada that consists of 80 buildings and structures, making it one of the most comprehensive extant mining complexes of the early twentieth century that helps to illustrate the shift from individual mining to corporate, industrial mining in the region (TK Nom 2017, 31).

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Most visitors, however, come with little knowledge about the Yukon, but with certain expectations concerning their travels and encounters. As they usually visit the Dawson City Museum and/or a National Historic Site where much has been left out of the storytelling, there is little opportunity for them to learn about Indigenous people, and some wonder what happened to the city and its people during the 150 years after the gold rush.

6.4.2

Looking for the Trip of a Lifetime: Tourism in Dawson City

Since the construction of the North Klondike Highway and the formation of the Klondike Visitors Association in the 1950s, Dawson City has become a vital tourist destination that has welcomed a growing numbers of visitors.44 Today, tourism is an important business branch in Yukon and accounts for the prime source of income and a large number of jobs.45 Dawson City and the goldfields alone attract over 37,000 visitors per year and the Dawson City Visitor Information Centre saw an estimated 113,449 visitors in 2016 (TK Nom 2017, 94; YG 2017, 11–19).46 While most of the tourists come from Canada and the United States, overseas visitors to the Yukon have increased.47 Most of them visit Dawson for pleasure, a few for business or personal reasons, and a quarter of the Canadians visit friends or relatives, as a visitor survey conducted by the Yukon government in 2016 showed (YG 2016, 9–14).48

44

In 2017, the Yukon experienced record-breaking visitor numbers. Of the 436,879 visitors in total, 70 % were Americans, 19 % Canadians, and 11 % came from overseas; 334,000 of all stayed overnight (YG 2017, 3, 11). 45 In 2015, tourism accounted for nearly 3500 jobs in the territory, and a survey estimated that CAD 226.9 million of Yukon businesses’ gross revenue was attributable to tourism (YG 2017, 3). 46 In 2016, the Dawson City Visitor Information Centre (VIC) moved from counting guestbook signatures to using electronic door counters to estimate its visitation rate. The numbers attained by the door counters, however, include tourists who visit the VIC repeatedly for purchasing tickets or merchandise, using the free Wi-Fi, or charging electronic devices. Furthermore, use of the free Wi-Fi available at the VICs is monitored through a pop-up survey asking Wi-Fi users their country of origin. These numbers include visitors who check their emails daily at the VIC during their stay in town. Between June and September 2016, nearly 5300 parties signed the guestbook at the Dawson City VIC, representing over 13,000 visitors to the centre (YG 2016, 18). 47 About 50 percent of all visitors to Dawson City are from Canada, particularly British Columbia, Yukon and the Prairie provinces, one third from the United States, 15 percent from Europe (the vast majority from German-speaking countries) and about six percent from Asia (YG 2017, 11). 48 The 2016 Community Visitor Survey in Dawson was conducted from July to September, using a standardized questionnaire. Of the total responses of 1400 people, 1317 surveys were retained, representing over 3416 visitors to Dawson. The goal of the survey was to find out how travellers spend their time in the community and to understand their attitudes, travel motivations and behaviours when they are in the community (YG 2016, 3).

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Usually, Dawson City is not people’s main destination, though, and many pass through the city on their way to Alaska on the Top of the World Highway. Only 3–5 percent have children in their travelling party (ibid.). After their visit to Dawson, they travel south toward Whitehorse or continue their journey north on the Dempster Highway to Tombstone Territorial Park and the Northwest Territories. Most visitors are looking for the ‘trip of a lifetime’ and want to experience nature and wildlife. As they are on a tour, they are not prepared to spend much time in the city. Most Canadians plan 2–3 days, and most Americans and Europeans 1–2 days for a visit to Dawson. And while most Canadians and overseas visitors travel by car or camper, most Americans fly in or come by bus or motor coach, organized by a cruise line. They typically stay in a hotel, at an RV park or campground and want to see it all within a day (YG 2016, 9; Pers. comm. with Reinmuth 2018). For all tourists, though, the Dawson City Visitor Information Centre is an important first stop. Here, they get information provided by Parks Canada and the City of Dawson, use free Wi-Fi, have a coffee and sign the guest book. Overall, tourists use their limited time in Dawson efficiently, doing an average of three outdoor, arts and cultural activities.49 Additionally, Americans like to go on a river cruise, while Canadians and Europeans prefer hiking. Almost all tourists visit a historic site (80 %) and a museum (60 %), about half of them see the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre, and one third experiences Indigenous culture or traditional ways of life. While Dawson offers a variety of festivals, events and performances, most visitors do not attend any of them, due to reasons of time. If they decide to see a performance, Diamond Tooth Gerties is their top priority. Americans also enjoy the Parks Canada Performances at specific sites, whereas only few Canadians and Europeans attend them. Participation in mining-related activities, including a visit of Dredge No. 4 and Discovery Claim, are rather low (8–17 %), though, possibly due to lack of time or health issue with older travellers. Although short, the vast majority of visitors consider their visit of Dawson good or excellent and would recommend it to their friends or colleagues (YG 2016, 10–17). Before arrival, visitors’ knowledge and expectations about the Klondike and its people differ widely. Most of them have heard of the gold rush and want to learn more about it. While many Americans learn about Dawson City from cruise brochures, most Europeans have read guidebooks (YG 2016, 8). Upon arrival, however, the majority have little time for exploration and learning, and often they are surprised about their new discoveries, as Somerville explains: “Visitors have very little knowledge of the region; of the event of the Klondike Gold Rush [. . .] People are learning a great deal on their trip. [. . .]. They are impressed and surprised to learn things that I think are very obvious” (Interview with Somerville 2018). Moreover, many travellers come with ideas and expectations to Dawson City that they hope to confirm, much of which they have learned from popular culture.

49

The top outdoor activities listed in the survey (in the order of priority) are wildlife viewing or bird watching, hiking, camping, visiting Tombstone, driving the Dempster, going on a river cruise, gold panning, visiting the Dome, fishing and canoeing/kayaking (YG 2016, 11).

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For a century, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have been left out of this popular story. They became invisible, stories of manifest destiny and survival of the fittest overshadowing their existence. Now they have returned – not only to tell their own stories, but also changing the story of the gold rush. Nevertheless, it is difficult to counter the powerful and alluring gold rush rhetoric. Today, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, their culture and language, are present and visible in town, which was not the case twenty years ago.50 They have entered the tourist industry, compiling interpretive material, distributing information material, welcoming tourists at the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre and cooperating with Parks Canada and other institutions in town, and they are benefitting from municipal and federal policies and investments in tourism. Today, Dawson City offers a full range of visitor services and amenities. It provides a good infrastructure and an active local visitor association, and the community has strategically invested in tourism (YG 2016, 3). Formal institutional interpretation and commercial programs are active and many designated sites have interpretive plans (TK Nom 2017, 249, 255–256). Success of a destination’s tourism industry depends on having current and reliable market intelligence. This information is also essential for Yukon government, First Nations governments, municipal or regional development bodies and industry to both measure the success of their marketing initiatives and to provide information necessary to develop business and marketing plans. A number of management plans and policies with respect to the nominated property (see Table 6.1) ensure that interpretation of the different sites is developed in accordance with the other stakeholders, among them the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in. The past decade has seen a remarkable growth in the Indigenous tourism and arts and culture sectors through an array of cultural and heritage attractions developed by Yukon First Nations, including new cultural centres, displays, activities, experiential programs and festivals. To foster the development of vibrant and sustainable Yukon First Nations arts, culture, and tourism sectors, the Yukon First Nations Culture and Tourism Association (YFNCT) has been established. Working closely with different organizations to maximize opportunities within these sectors, it facilitates training and mentorship, a booking and referral service, networking opportunities and co-operative marketing for First Nations artists, performers, cultural centres and tourism entrepreneurs in Yukon. Through the organization, Yukon’s First Nations have a unified voice to influence, promote and assist the development of Yukon First Nation art, culture and tourism. These developments are important because arts and culture unify and strengthen Yukon First Nations communities, creating pride and inspiring experiences that attract visitors from around the world. Concurrently, there has been a growing understanding, awareness and demand amongst visitors for First Nations arts, culture and tourism experiences and information, as the Yukon 2018 Vacation Planner confirms (YG 2018b, 13): “Wherever

50 When I visited Dawson City in 1998, the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre had not opened yet and Indigenous people were not as visible in Dawson City as they are today.

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Table 6.1 Interpretive planning and tourism development Management agency Parks Canada Yukon Government (Tourism and Culture, Historic Sites Unit)

Plan/policy Klondike National Historic Sites Interpretive Plan (2017) North Klondike Highway Interpretive Plan (2004) Interpretive Signage Strategy (2005) Digital Media Plan for Historic Sites (2015)

Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in

Tr’ochëk Interpretive Plan (2003)

Yukon Government (Tourism and Culture), Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in

Forty Mile, Fort Cudahy and Fort Constantine Historic Site Interpretation Plan (2007)

Tr’ondëk–Klondike World Heritage Site Stewardship Board

Tourism Planning for Tr’ondëk–Klondike World Heritage Site Nomination (2016)

Scope (In progress at time of writing.) Outlines themes and approaches for signs on North Klondike Highway Provides framework for new site selection, construction planning and site maintenance Plan to develop “Yukon Walking Tours” and “Yukon Driving Tours” apps Identifies themes, issues and approaches, incl. planning for implementation needs Identifies key themes and stories, interpretive resources (natural and cultural), visitor interests and existing interpretation Provides research-based guidance on the opportunities for tourism development after inscription on the World Heritage List

Source: Interpretive Planning and Tourism Development, TK Nom (2017, 255–256, abridged)

you travel in the territory, Yukon First Nations history and culture is part of what makes the Yukon the special place it is.” The travel guide suggests a seven-day trip on the Klondike Trail, with First Nations attractions including a visit of the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre to lean about the rich history of the region’s first peoples (ibid., 94). A Welcome Guide (YFNCT 2018)51 was designed to showcase Yukon First Nations dynamic and rich cultural traditions to both local and visitor audiences. This 52-page publication includes a double-page spread on each of the 14 Yukon First Nation, highlighting their history and culture, language, community voices and the major attractions of each community. It also contains key information to help connect visitors with authentic First Nations experiences and culture. Through photography and images, it captures “the dynamic spirit and beauty that exists in Yukon.” Introducing the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, the guide lists the “Top 5 Things To Do” in Dawson: visit the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre, celebrate with the people at Moosehide Gathering, “walk, hike, ski or snowshoe the Ninth Avenue Trail” that connects with traditional trails, visit the Tr’ochëk lookout and “head north to

51 First produced by YFNTA in 2001 and reprinted three times, the 2018 edition of the Welcome Guide was developed by all 14 First Nations of the Yukon. 70,000 copies have been distributed across the territory and are available at Visitor Information Centers and Cultural Centres (YFNCT homepage, https://yfnct.ca).

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Tombstone Territorial Park and the Blackstone River on the traditional travel route of our renowned Elders Joe and Annie Henry” (ibid., 37). For the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, welcoming visitors into on their land is an old tradition. Elder and former chief Angie Joseph-Rear52 states: “We have a long history of welcoming people into our territory. It is Tr’ëhudè – our traditional law – to care for those who travel these lands with us. We share our skills and knowledge, learn from each other – that is how we move forward and maintain good relationships” (JosephRear, quoted in YFNCT 2018, 37). Further information on the TH is available at the Visitor Information Centre. Posters, showcases and maps give a first impression. A flyer from the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre located across the street from the Visitor Information Centre gives detailed information. One of the most relevant strategies to reach out to visitors is the Dawson City Heritage Pass which includes entrance to three heritage sites: the Dawson City Museum, a Klondike National Historic Site or Parks Canada program and the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre. Altogether, the impact on tourism has been one factor why the TH got involved in the World Heritage nomination process, as manger and curator at the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre Glenda Bolt states: “It’s been very nice to be recognized, especially if something has been celebrated on your land for 130 years with barely mentioning you. I think the idea of being noted and rewritten back into your own story, into the history books, is pretty tantalizing” (Interview with Bolt 2018). Others, among them miners, “opposed the idea of increasing tourism” and were “uncomfortable with the idea of an increased visitorship” (Interview with Somerville 2018), fearing that with the increase of visitors “something special about the region [. . .] would be lost.” Somerville thinks this to be “ridiculous,” because the number of visitors has no impact on the allure and fascination of the Klondike, as “throughout the entire history of the region people have described a strange appeal of the region that seems immune to the number of people who are here” (ibid.). Miners, however, feared that tourism would negatively impact mining.

6.4.3

The Issue of Mining Within a Developing Landscape

Mining is, besides tourism, another important aspect of the property nominated in 2017 and to Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in empowerment and community development. The Klondike goldfields are home to an active placer mining community.53 There are about 80 placer mining operations functioning in the area and 18,000 placer claims,

52

Angie Joseph-Rear, born and raised in Moosehide, attended residential school for six years, has been a Hän language teacher and coordinator as well as Chief of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in from 1987 to 1990. 53 The Klondike is also home to an international viewing public attracted to the frontier gold-mining adventure presented in two reality TV shows, Yukon Gold and Gold Rush, both filmed onsite, starring local miners.

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not all of them actively mined (TK Nom 2017, 35; Interview with Roberts 2018).54 Many of those mines are family-run businesses whose owners live in Dawson City, while others are operated by seasonal residents from southern Canada or the United States. Also, there are approximately 55,000 hard rock claims. The modern mining landscape is marked by large excavations in the hillsides and valleys, heaps of tailings, heavy machinery and seasonal camps, all of which can be seen from the roads that wind through the goldfields. Although the lone prospector with his gold pan became an image for the past settler culture, the staking and registering of claims still occurs today as it did in the 1890s (YG 2009, 2019).55 There are a number of legislations and regulations in place, though. Mining activity has to stay 30 feet away from developed heritage sites or buildings, there are limits to what kind of development can be done to buildings, and the Dawson Mining District gets reviewed by various departments and TH (Interview with Roberts 2018). Furthermore, environmental regulations require miners to reclaim any ground they have finished working by flattening their tailings (see Fig. 6.5), re-vegetating the area, and returning the cleaned water to the streams from which it was taken (TK Nom 2017, 35–36). Yet those regulations are “minimal” and mining is still environmentally concerning, as Jody Beaumont, Traditional Knowledge Specialist at the TH Heritage Department, explains: Placer mining has been around for so long [. . .]. It’s incredibly damaging, not because one placer mine might be an issue – although it is – but its accumulative impacts are enormous; and it’s regulated [. . .] the way it was in 1906. Technology, expectations and understandings of what it was going to do for the bigger picture were different then (Interview with Beaumont 2018).

Figs. 6.5 and 6.6 Tailings left by dredges in the Klondike region, and protest by miners against the UNESCO nomination. (Photos by Susemihl) In 2009, the mines produced 43,582 fine ounces of gold, valued at CAD 48.2 million (TK Nom 2017, 35). 55 Placer claim staking in the Yukon is on the ground staking, i.e., people must travel to the area they intend to claim and put posts in the ground (Interview with Roberts 2018). 54

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In any case, many people within the community would like to see active mining disappear. Miners, on the other hand, had been concerned by limitations that might have been imposed on them and limit development, and, consequently, opposed the UNESCO designation (Interviews with Roberts and Somerville 2018; see Fig. 6.6). Placer miners worried that a World Heritage designation might put new restrictions on their activities. All existing heritage sites, however, are managed, and the UNESCO designation would not have changed any of the existing regulations concerning mining or other development, as Somerville argues: “The management plan of the nomination bid is a Gestalt of management practices presently in place across the various governments. The site such as nominated is managed; the idea that it is not is mistaken” (Interview with Somerville 2018). Miners, however, expressed their concerns at the meetings, as Somerville remembers: Someone attending a public meeting who is involved in mining would ask, what am I supposed to do after this inscription if I find some resource of historic significance on my land? The response from the management committee was, well what would you do now? [. . .] What we are really talking about is that there are rules that aren’t being acknowledged, that also aren’t being enforced, because who has got that many personnel to enforce this (Interview with Somerville 2018).

While the inscription might have brought a stronger enforcement of existing rules, it would not have hindered development of the region, per se, as Shore stressed: “We want to make sure that today’s activities are a part of what we commemorate going forward. We have no desire to inhibit what people are doing today” (Shore, quoted in CBC 2018). This meant that areas inside the World Heritage site would not have been regulated any differently than areas outside of it, as was also promised by the major of Dawson City, Wayne Potoroka, TH Chief Roberta Joseph and Yukon Premier Sandy Silver (Croft 2017). Another reason why miners opposed the inscription is because they fear more tourists visiting and interfering with mines, which would be a safety issue. They assume that with the designation, the profile of the region would grow even more into a global tourism landscape, and with more people there would be more traffic in the goldfields and the historic campsites. Tourists want to go gold mining, and when they have not booked a tour, they drive around individually and stop at various places, unaware of the active mining taking place (Interview with Roberts 2018). They have to look for the information, otherwise they are not informed, which can lead to conflicts with miners when they are panning on someone’s claim, as Somerville stresses: It is an active mining landscape. The fear is the headline ‘Tourist crushed’, because someone operating a goldmine, minding their own business, has a busload of unsupervised or unmanaged tourists show up, crawling all over the mine. They are operating heavy equipment, and they drop a load of gravel, and there is someone standing there who should not have been standing there. How do we deal with that? I think that is something we should be talking about, that people involved in promoting and managing tourism of the region should be taking more seriously than we are without the inscription (Interview with Somerville 2018).

Security and safety measures, however, are an existing problem that needs to be dealt with, irrespective of a UNESCO designation.

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For the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, relations with the mining companies are complicated. While the mining industry provides jobs, the land as resource needs to be protected for traditional activities. Generally, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in are torn between the mines as potential employers and as destroyers of traditional land and heritage, mainly because many have been involved with mining since the gold rush, as Jody Beaumont explains: There are many TH families who are placer miners, and have been for decades, since the early days. [. . .] You can be deeply connected to the land and see the challenges that something like placer mining places upon it, but still be deeply connected to your placer mining culture and see that both go together. A lot of people expect this either-or thing, and it’s just not reality (Interview with Beaumont 2018).

While the mines offer jobs and training possibilities for the people, at the same time they are difficult stakeholders in terms of heritage conservation. Besides, negotiations and dealings with mines are difficult for the TH departments, according to Beaumont: I had never a day working here when there wasn’t pressure from some mine. The reality is that we spend an enormous amount of time dealing with these companies [. . .] Our citizens are spending all their time with them, because [. . .] they are promising them jobs, and they say, we’re going to educate and train you. Show me a project that’s actually happened. It’s exceptionally rare; it’s all speculation. Coffee Gold56 is getting closer to a possibility, but it’s still not there, and it’s been fifteen years of dangling hope in front of people [. . .] I think people are not pushing enough back when it comes to those companies, and part of that is a cultural thing, too, because you don’t do that (Interview with Beaumont 2018).

Another problem is that the TH and other First Nations in the Yukon have become the owners of Settlement Land, while they do not always own the sub-surface rights.57 This means that they may construct buildings or preserve a certain land, while somebody else owns the surface rights to minerals, as is the case with the TH subdivision, as Beaumont states: The whole TH subdivision by the bridge is all claimed for placer mining. Last summer the people who have those claims applied through the assist system for permits to go ahead and mine that subdivision. That person did not have the financial means, but he could do that; they have subsurface right, not TH. He could theoretically go and tear down that entire subdivision, mine it all out and then he would have to put it all back (Interview with Beaumont 2018).

In this instance, the TH did not deal with the rights before the subdivision was built. At other sites, the TH have used claiming as a strategy for heritage preservation, asserts Beaumont:

56 The Coffee Gold Project is a proposed gold mine in Central Yukon, planned by Goldcorp Kaminak Ltd., and supposed to become the largest gold mine in the territory (Gignac 2020). 57 Settlement Land is owned and managed by the First Nation and identified in each Final Agreement. It is divided into two main categories: In Category A, First Nation ownership includes both the surface and sub-surface, including mines and minerals. In Category B, First Nation ownership includes the surface area only, while mines and minerals, or sub-surface rights, are under the administration of the Yukon Government (INAC 2010).

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One of the heritage sites along the river is a sacred site, and there are elements of it that are protected and we’re not going to share what those elements are and why – and we shouldn’t have to, frankly, since it’s Settlement Land, but it’s category B. In order to protect it from mining, the choices were get it designated through Yukon – it’s a TH site, but if you get it designated through Yukon, you have to tell them why – or you just stake claims there (Interview with Beaumont 2018).

For reasons of heritage and land preservation, TH owns a number of claims and are “using the system”; they are not opposing placer mining in general. The process of preparing the nomination then started a process of communication and confrontation within the community, not free of tensions, quarrels and rejection. Many people who voiced opposition did not have “a strong grasp on the process of the inscription” and as landowners did not feel represented in the project management committee or the steering committee. Instead, according to Somerville, they “took issue with the fact” that the members of the committees were not land holders, and “there was a distinct feeling of lack of belonging: people who were land holders with [. . .] a stake [. . .] were not part of the group that made decisions about inscriptions involving the land on which they had the claims” (Interview with Somerville 2018). Many miners feared new restrictions coming with a designation. The existing regulations concerning development in connection with heritage sites in the Klondike, however, were not to change. Regarding an inscription on the World Heritage list, there were concerns referring to the future management of the site within the boundaries. While an inscription seems to be forever, it will always be subject to political changes, especially when regulations concerning the land change, as Somerville states: “It is impossible to predict how subsequent policy makers will interpret the meaning of a UNESCO inscription and its irrelevance or impact on the level of protection, management or conservation that is required, advisable or necessary” (Interview with Somerville 2018). The strength of the idea of a ‘developing landscape’ is that as a ‘living landscape’ it is constantly evolving and witnessing human use of land and heritage. The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have been using their heritage for centuries, which has given them strength, identity and a livelihood. The UNESCO application of 2017 made clear that the community wanted a “living cultural site” that includes the continuation of active placer mining and traditional Indigenous activities on the land (Croft 2017), and ICOMOS and UNESCO should accept these perspectives on land and the ‘use’ of heritage. The revised nomination proposed in 2021 does not include areas that are still actively mined, however, and the chance of inscribing a truly evolving cultural landscape has been missed.

6.5

Representing and Interpreting the Tr’ondëk-Klondike

The Tr’ondëk-Klondike has been a region of diverse histories and cultures. Nothing, however, has shaped the history, architecture and storytelling of the region as much as the Klondike Gold Rush. Two of the major storytelling institutions in town and within the proposed World Heritage site are the Parks Canada Federal Heritage Buildings, including its programs, and the Dawson City Museum. As major tourist attractions

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within the proposed property they interpret the history of the Klondike region and its people. The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, however, are conspicuously absent from the history presented at these sites. Instead, the exhibitions at the buildings and the stories of the programs present images and histories that are predominantly connected to the gold rush, while Indigenous people feature only marginally within it. Consequently, the exhibitions confirm existing ideas and imaginations of the visitors concerning Yukon’s original inhabitants as ‘people of the past’, as a discussion of Parks Canada programs and the Dawson City Museum illustrates. A sort of ‘counter narrative’ can be experienced at the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in traditional camp of Tr’ochëk, which as a TH heritage site serves as an Indigenous representation of TH heritage and culture, being used a tool for cultural revitalization and identity building.

6.5.1

Parks Canada Buildings and Programs

Of all heritage sites within the proposed property of Tr’ondëk-Klondike, the historic buildings of Dawson City are probably the most noticeable and persuading representations of the ‘grand narrative’ of the region. With its boardwalks and false-front buildings, the city “still evokes the heartbeat of the greatest gold rush in history,” proclaims a Vacation Planner (YG 2018b, 90). While the city’s many historic buildings include a small number of early miners’ cabins, early commercial buildings and a collection of Edwardian-era government buildings, contemporary buildings are constructed in the ‘Dawson Style’ to be compatible with the architectural design and materials used in the historic structures. These infill buildings, as well as dirt roads, wooden sidewalks and a lack of modern elements such as traffic lights, enhance the frontier character of the town and evoke a sense of having stepped back in time. While the community has continued to develop, however, the historic layout of the town, its gridiron street pattern and historicy buildings have been maintained, pulling visitors back into the past.58 To experience the buildings and get a glimpse into Klondike history, Parks Canada has put together a program to tour the Klondike National Historic Sites. Visitors are invited to participate in one of the many different walking tours through town to hear captivating stories from knowledgeable guides dressed in period costume (see Fig. 6.7).59 Programs such as “Strange Things done in the Midnight Sun” or “Ghost

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See Archibald 1982 for a discussion of the reconstruction and preservation of buildings in Dawson City. 59 The Klondike National Historic Sites 2018 Programs included several walks though town: “Then and Now Walking Tour,” “Strange Things Done in the Midnight Sun” (offering “bizarre stories” and “the Klondike’s oddest tales”), “Behind the Scenes” and a “Hike through History.” Further programs include “The Greatest Klondiker,” “The Maid, the Mountie and the Miner” and “Dawson City Escape,” where visitors solve a murder that the NWMP investigated more than 100 years ago. Additionally, audio walking tours, geo-caching, the Parks Canada booklet and a Dredge No. 4 Guided Tour App are available (PC 2018c).

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Figs. 6.7 and 6.8 Parks Canada guide dressed in period custom with a groups of tourists, and vignette from the program, “The Maid, the Mountie, and the Miner”. (Two photos by Susemihl)

Town Gold” tell frontier stories, and visitors can meet some of the most “impressive individuals” of the gold rush era. At the Palace Grand Theatre, they can vote on “The Greatest Klondiker”, i.e., the “most courageous, brilliant, innovative and adventurous souls of a generation,” and “the crème de la crème” of the people that “got here and made a name for themselves” (DawsonCity.ca). Indigenous people who were there before and lived through the gold rush era do not feature in the ‘contest’. One of the most popular programs is the “Then and Now” walking tour.60 It starts at the visitor centre, stops at the Dänoja Zho Cultural Centre (DZCC), acknowledging TH land, residence and culture, and continues through town, stopping at various National Historic Sites that are not generally open to visitors, such as the Red Feather Saloon, the Bank of British North America or the Palace Grand Theatre. On the tour, a modern tour guide takes the people through town, and they meet a ‘traditional character’ at a number of stops on the way. The tourists learn about the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and their traditional life at the DZCC, but the tour never returns to the Indigenous people and there are no references to their situation on the way through town and history, let alone encountering Indigenous ‘characters’ on the tour. Indigenous people are somewhat ‘lost’ on the way, ‘vanishing’ into the past. At the end of the tour, the guides readily answer questions concerning life in Dawson City, but tell the visitors to ask the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in for more information on the Indigenous way of life. Another popular, award-winning Parks Canada program is “The Maid, the Mountie, and the Miner,”61 which is set in the Commissioner’s Residence.62

I participated in several “Then and Now Walking Tours” in August 2018. I participated in the tour in August 2018. 62 Built in 1901 by Thomas Fuller and located on Front Street, the Commissioner’s Residence represents the strong government presence that followed the Gold Rush. Of the six commissioners that lived in the residence from 1901 to 1916, George Black was the best known. The building stayed closed until 1950, when it became a retirement home. In 1989, Parks Canada acquired the building and in 1995 opened it for the bi-centennial. 60 61

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Three vignettes performed by Parks Canada employees take visitors to ‘authentic’ situations in the Klondike Gold Rush past to “take a peek behind the curtain of history and see the real story, told by those who were there.” The program text further announces: Human beings with their quirks, power struggles and dreams are brought to life in this program, illustrating how tough situations get when societies and economies and lives change. The Klondike gold rush was a time of immense change and challenge for the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Nation, and for the hand miners who first dug up these creeks (Dawsoncity.ca 2021).

The first vignette, set in 1902, deals with the miners complaining to the commissioner about water and lumber rights and concessions. In a second vignette, the audience meets Commissioner George Black and his maid, who are preparing a reception and discussing the disputes and grievances of miners. Finally, a third vignette addresses the relocation of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in to Moosehide depicted through a discussion between Bishop Bompas and a Mountie (see Fig. 6.8). Their conversation is based on letters written by Bishop Bompas to the federal government in Ottawa. Yet, Chief Isaac, who was very active in the relocation and a public character at the time, is not represented in the play. Instead, Bompas speaks for the Hän. After the scene, the guide asks the audience whose voice was not heard, namely the voice of the Indigenous people, and briefly explains their relocation and current situation. Parks Canada has been recognized for its work towards reconciliation by revising this program to include Indigenous perspectives.63 In trying to reframe the gold-rush story, Parks staff collaborated with Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in representatives on the interpretive presentation, which emphasizes the TH story and challenges visitors to rethink their understanding of Klondike history. The approach, however, remains problematic. Although the TH were involved in the revision of the program, their voice is still not heard in the play, which has been constructed from a non-Indigenous perspective. Again, non-Indigenous people are presented as active, while the Indigenous people are passive and silent, talked about and represented through other voices. They are not included in the conversation, but ‘handled’ by Parks Canada staff, representing colonial powers. While this situation might be intended to represent one part of Yukon history, in this case, it is inaccurate. Alex Somerville, who has studied the correspondence between Bishop Bompas and the federal government that describes negotiating the resettlement, is highly critical of this interpretation and describes the scene as “very peculiar” and “not well researched.” He states: “The TH position is that the relocation from Tr’ochëk to Moosehide was a negotiated one, and the idea or the portrayal that the relocation was the result of a discussions between the Anglican church and federal officials is contrary to the First Nations own claim or version of events” (Interview with Somerville 2018). Indigenous agency is not represented in the scene. The inclusion of the role of Chief Isaac, who was reportedly very outspoken and on communicative

63 In recognition of these efforts, Parks Canada received the CEO Award of Excellence in Leadership and Innovation in Ottawa for this program (TH 2018, 35).

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terms with the powers of the time, though, would have meant to deal with matters of appropriation and representation, which is a challenge for Parks Canada and, for this reason, might have been evaded.

6.5.2

The Dawson City Museum

Another “perfect place” for visitors to begin “their exploration of Dawson, the Klondike and the Gold Rush,” according to a museum flyer, is the Dawson City Museum, accommodated in the Old Territorial Administration Building.64 Occupied by the Dawson City Museum and the Historical Society since 1962 and purchased by the Yukon Territorial Government in 1976, the building was designated a National Historic Site in 2002. Founded in 1959, it is the largest museum in the region, one of the largest in the Yukon and run by the Museum Society. Director Alex Somerville sees it as a regional history museum that represents the Klondike65 and the regional part of the Klondike Gold Rush. With its large collection the museum is an important research institution and an essential resource for writers, artists and academics.66 Many tourists visit the museum and get an introduction to the gold rush and the history of the Indigenous people of the area. Different exhibits provide an in-depth look at Dawson City’s social and mining history, the Hän First Nation, the colourful gold rush era and the natural history of the Klondike. During the summer, a variety of programs are available and daily events include a Historic Building Tour, a Train Shelter Tour, a Tour of Museum Highlights and a rockerbox demonstration.67 In addition, the Film City of Gold is shown in the theatre throughout the day, presenting iconic images of the city and the gold rush. The museum is also home to locomotives, visible storage and photography exhibits. The Dawson

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Constructed in 1901, the federal building housed the offices of Yukon’s Commissioners, the Territorial Council, the office of the mining recorder, and later the post office, the territorial court, the customs and telegraph services, federal and territorial officials, along with temporary occupants, including the school and the radio station. Today, the restored Council Chambers are still used by the Circuit Court in the upper level. 65 Other institutions that tell part of the Klondike Gold Rush story are the McBride Museum in Whitehorse, the Klondike Gold Rush National Historical Park sites in Seattle and Skagway (both run by the National Park Service), and the Klondike National Historical Sites of Parks Canada (see websites McBride Museum, https://macbridemuseum.com/; Klondike Gold Rush National Historical Park in Alaska, https://www.nps.gov/klgo/index.htm; Klondike Gold Rush National Historical Park in Seattle, https://www.nps.gov/klse/index.htm; Klondike National Historic Sites, https:// parks.canada.ca/lhn-nhs/yt/klondike). 66 The Klondike History Library & Archives offer visitors access to a original archival documents and reference materials, including mining records, passenger lists of steamers, municipal records, mortuary records, census, church, NWMP and postal records, historic newspapers as well as 10,000 images of the gold rush. 67 In August 2018, I took the Historic Building Tour, which gave an introduction to the house and its architectural features, and twice I went on the Tour of Museum Highlights.

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City Museum maintains a close relationship with the community68 and plays an important role as a community resource. School programs, movie nights and special events such as the annual Christmas Open House ensure that the museum is a gathering place for the citizens of Dawson. In the museum, there are two galleries on the lower floor: The North Gallery is dedicated to the history of Dawson, with scenes depicting a minors’ camp, a lady’s living room, a saloon, a pharmacy and a bank. The South Gallery consists of different components which have not changed in the last decades. A tour through the South Gallery starts with a geological exhibit on the area, containing explanations of the formation of land, which is criticized by Somerville for its long and tedious texts and the missing illustrations, displaying none of the more than 10,000 objects and evidence of the material history of the regions that the museum owns. The geological exhibit is followed by a small exhibit “On Yukon Native Peoples and Languages,” specifically on the Northern Athapaskan people, early trading relationships, missionaries and the Chilkoot. While the exhibition is “kind of neat,” Somerville disapproves of it as “it’s about the Chilkat people who are hundreds of kilometres away” and does not deal with the region (see Fig. 6.9). Moreover, the exhibit interprets Indigenous people as ‘a product’ of historical developments at a certain time, and their culture and way of life are not followed throughout the exhibition, which is a stone of contention for Somerville:

Fig. 6.9 Display of the Chilkat people at the Dawson City Museum. (Photo by Susemihl)

68 A decade ago, people living in the community voted on who they wanted to be commemorated, and the faces of the mannequins in the museum are casts of actual people living in the community. The models for the hands were auctioned off as a fundraiser and do not match the bodies of the mannequins.

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It’s an exhibit on the Northern Athapaskan people, and in spite of the inclusion of the Henrys (Joe and Annie Henry and their crafts and traditional knowledge), it historicizes the Indigenous peoples of the region. Also, it’s a section devoted to the Northern Athapaskan people that are left unaddressed anywhere else in the museum (Interview with Somerville 2018).

According to Somerville, the story of the Indigenous people needs to be told throughout the museum: “The whole museum is a space for explaining the history of the Indigenous peoples of the region, because the Indigenous peoples of the region are a part of the history of the region – before anyone else and also as long as anyone else” (ibid.). The current way of displaying Indigenous history and culture and, thus, the current way of thinking is “sectionalized, compartmentalized, marginalized,” claims Somerville, which needs to change: We are not having a spatially separate section for Indigenous history. The stories we tell, where appropriate, touch on or incorporate Indigenous history; the elements of regional history that are more relevant or interesting were for a long time segregated (Interview with Somerville 2018).

Somerville’s idea of the region that should be covered by the exhibitions includes Dawson City, Moosehide and the surrounding goldfield communities. The site of Tr’ochëk, however, is solely interpreted by the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in. While Somerville has plans and ideas for restructuring the galleries, he strives for a shared responsibility and approach to an interpretation of the region: That’s where we get to [. . .] our mission, the parts of regional history that we see shared between our role and responsibility as regional history museum and the TH government, the heritage department’s role, responsibility and desire to also have a part in the stewardship and the communication in the same activities that we take on for the whole region and the human history of the region. It’s not exclusively ours. [. . .] It’s nice to be able to share something (Interview with Somerville 2018).

While targeting for sharing and collaborating, questions of appropriation have to be addressed. It needs to be considered what stories of the Indigenous people the museum can tell, while the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in need to be able to tell their own stories. Somerville states: There are also post-colonial considerations [. . .] when I decided we needed permission and help from TH to proceed with our exhibits. What permission do we have to share stories that belong to – to use the most academic language – an extant people, people who really own it, it’s their heritage, it’s their heritage; they’ve inherited it from their ancestors [. . .] Two years ago, when we decided to begin designing new exhibits, I knew from the beginning that we needed [. . .] permission and help from the TH heritage department to build our exhibits (Interview with Somerville 2018).

Also, the exhibits at the museum need to be restructured to tell the regions’ history from diverse perspectives. Indigenous stories need to be included in all exhibitions, as they always have been part of the picture. This particularly means “no sections on Indigenous peoples” as the museum presents the history of the region, as Somerville explains: We look at the stories that are there to tell about the history of the region, we look at the things that we have in the museum, and we find the spaces where they intersect, where the stories and the things meet [. . .] There are things that have to be on display [. . .], and there are stories that have to be told (Interview with Somerville 2018).

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For interpretation Somerville also wants to use more artifacts and photographs, as the museum owns a rich photographic collection. In pursuing that task the museum needs to “work proactively” with the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in to identify the areas where the responsibility of sharing those stories is possible. While the museum has certain advantages, such as a large space for exhibitions and many artifacts to be exhibited, it needs permission and support “to develop the story correctly, for presentation and communication, and not only for the visitors of the region, but also for visiting writers, academics, popular writers, artists, filmmakers or TV people,” as Somerville stresses (Interview with Somerville 2018). The Dawson City Museum can, thus, encompass the entire history of the region, especially since the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre does not undertake collecting and specifically focuses on the elements of regional history that impact the Indigenous people. The Dawson City Museum has been on good terms with the Indigenous governance body and the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre for a long time, and there is a “copromotion” between the two organizations. While both have been working together and there is “a fair amount of overlap” (ibid.), cooperation depends partly on personnel and individual people. Many TH people have worked at the museum in the past, and former employees of the museum have taken up important roles within the TH government. Also, many items on display in the TH government building are there on loan from the Dawson City Museum. As a cultural and heritage organization, the museum needs to cooperate with the TH heritage department, but for the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre is “the face or body” of their heritage. Both museum and centre, though, are acknowledging that they “co-exist more than work together,” claims Somerville. For future exhibits on the region, such as a planned exhibition on the history of the Klondike in the twenty-first century, collaboration and cooperation with the TH and their heritage department are necessary, asserts Somerville: The small exhibit on local governance speaks briefly about the territorial municipal government and spends more time talking about governance models introduced to the TH at Moosehide and how this has subsequently become a Chief and Council organization and today a First Nations government. The motto of the new exhibit will be ‘The people of the Klondike persevere and prosper through adaptation and change’ (Interview with Somerville 2018).

In close collaboration and exchange with the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, this new exhibit promises to present a more diverse and complete picture of the Indigenous people of the region. With the TH heritage department and the DZCC, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have gained enormous influence on traditional storytelling and interpretive sites such as the Dawson City Museum and Parks Canada Sites, thus encountering stereotyped interpretations. Moreover, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in themselves have become active in the storytelling. They have taken over the interpretation and representation of their culture and way of life and have written their voice into the storyline. An important page in this ‘landscape storybook’ is Tr’ochëk.

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The National Historic Site of Tr’ochëk

One of the most important summer gathering places in the TH traditional homeland is Tr’ochëk,69 an ancient fishing camp at the confluence of the Klondike and Yukon rivers (see Fig. 6.10). For hundreds of years, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in went there to fish salmon, hunt moose and meet with neighboring First Nations with whom they would feast, trade and marry. Tr’ochëk consists of a low, triangular river terrace that stretches along the south bank of the Klondike River and the east bank of the Yukon River. At different times, Tr’ochëk has hosted a fishing camp, a gold rush log cabin settlement, an infamous red-light district, a railway terminus, a sawmill, farming operations, a placer mine and now, once again, a seasonal fish camp. It was here that members of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in experienced the most profound impacts of the Gold Rush when the mass arrival of newcomers led to the displacement of the Indigenous residents and the establishment of a mining settlement on the site.

Fig. 6.10 Exhibition of the Tr’ochëk Heritage Site at the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre. (Photo by Susemihl) 69

Cultural research work at Tr’ochëk began in 1993 when the site was threatened by mining activity and the TH arranged a memorandum of agreement with the Yukon Historical and Museums Association, Dawson City Museum and Parks Canada to ensure a record of the site and its resources. They also began a heritage inventory of traditional Yukon River sites with support from the new Aboriginal sites initiative of Parks Canada. The work at Tr’ochëk was “co-operatively integrated with a larger international project studying the upper Yukon River” and jointly funded by Parks Canada and the US National Parks Service, the “project speaks to the importance of partnerships in the pursuit of effective work for this important river commemoration project” (Neufeld 1999, 5).

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Its conservation and designation has a long history. For decades, the nation fought to save Tr’ochëk from destruction by mining. In the 1970s, the Klondike valley experienced a mining boom and several placer claims were staked at Tr’ochëk. When the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in joined other Yukon First Nations in starting land claims negotiations, Elders shared their knowledge of the site and worked to document traditional trails, camps and fishing sites within the traditional territory. The TH and representatives from Yukon heritage groups insisted that a site of such cultural and historic importance should be preserved, and in 1975, Tr’ochëk was identified as a significant cultural site. After the campaign ‘Saving Tr’ochëk’ was started and while further research was carried out, mining at the site continued throughout the 1980s and 90s. Despite a petition to the Canadian government requesting that Canada stop mining activities at Tr’ochëk, no action was taken. Only in 1997, the Canadian government purchased all mining interests on the site and the site was to be protected “for all time” as TH Settlement Land (Dobrowolsky 2003; Dobrowolsky and Hammer 2001; TK Nom 2017). In 1998, under the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Final Agreement, Tr’ochëk was designated a First Nation Heritage Site to “recognize, protect, enhance and celebrate Hän culture and history.” In 2002, the site was further designated a National Historic Site of Canada for its significance to the heritage of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, especially for the representation of the importance of fishing to their culture. TH citizens ensured that the heritage professionals understood the significance of the fish camp as the traditional heart of the TH territory, which exceeded the brief use of the site at the time of the gold rush. Today, the Tr’ochëk Heritage Site provides Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in with the opportunity to preserve and share their history and culture. The site, thus, complements efforts by Parks Canada in the region, which to date have focused primarily on showcasing the Gold Rush, and features the full spectrum of heritage values in Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in’s rich and diverse ancestral homeland, which constitutes an example of a Yukon First Nation Land Claims Agreement benefiting the whole community. The layers of history at Tr’ochëk also help to tell the story of Tr’ondëk-Klondike. Archaeological work has uncovered several distinct levels of occupation.70 Excavated artifacts include historical items dating back to the time of contact and trade with Europeans, such as beads, dishes and metal tools, but they also include evidence of occupation prior to this contact, such as animal bones and stone tools that indicate frequent use over the past 200 to 300 years. Evidence of fishing is revealed in remains such as fish bones, stone net sinkers and bone needles. This is overlain by extensive historical resources dating from the early twentieth century,

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Layers in the soil reveal the interesting history of Tr’ochëk, and archaeologists identified at least six different occupation layers in the area bordering the Yukon River. A history of intermittent flooding created “an excellent environment for preservations of artifacts” and produced “layers of time” that allow archaeologists to view past occupations of the site. During flooding episodes, as the water slowed, silt suspended in the floodwaters settled and blanketed the ground and the remains of abandoned campsites. Later, people would make their camps on the new ground created by the flood silts (Dobrowolsky and Hammer 2001, 4).

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including remains of buildings, machinery and railway remnants. Contemporary mining tailings bear witness to mining in the 1990s before the area was protected through land claims and designated a National Historic Site. Tr’ochëk also contains a network of trails and old roads as well as archaeological sites spread across the lower bench, hillside and upper bench, among them historical mining resources, modern fish camps and outbuildings built by the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in (Dobrowolsky 2003, 95; Dobrowolsky and Hammer 2001, 24). Today, Tr’ochëk stands as a symbol of Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in vitality. It has been reclaimed by the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and is once again used as a community gathering place and a seasonally occupied fishing camp by the descendants of the people who were displaced over a century ago. While a few family cabins are located at the site, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in seek to protect the site’s cultural resources and create a place of natural beauty for relaxation and contemplation where their citizens and others can learn of TH history and culture (see Fig. 6.11). Moreover, a community-wide oral history project has focussed on learning about the individual and collective past of the TH First Nation, and archaeology work at the Tr’ochëk site funded by the Government of Yukon provides TH youth with a hands-on opportunity to learn about their heritage (Dobrowolsky and Hammer 2001, 27). Besides Tr’ochëk, there is an assemblage of TH Settlement Land parcels along the Yukon River, which were selected during the land claim process because of their traditional use as fishing and hunting camps and locales. Covering large areas of the river frontage, the selections were informed by traditional knowledge of Elders.

Fig. 6.11 Proposed developments at Tr’ochëk. (Photo by Susemihl)

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Some of the sites have a few, while others have little, or no tangible remains. The Hän have always depended on the river for transportation between fishing camps and settlements. Even if there is only little physical evidence left, with the exception of archaeological signs of the fish camps and the overland trails, Indigenous travel “is expressed in traditional knowledge, which takes the form of navigational awareness, place names along the river, an intimate understanding of the river’s physical features and the oral history of the area” (TK Nom 2017, 24). This traditional knowledge is evident in their continued access to and travel on the river, knowledge of the location and use of historical and contemporary fishing camps and ongoing harvesting activities. The contemporary use, traditional knowledge and oral histories of these places form an integral component of the strong connection of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in to the Yukon River. Additionally, there are many stories that connect the people to the land, often explaining certain features and places. Moosehide Slide is such a site. Stretching across the mountain face at the north end of Dawson City, this natural landslide, according to geologists, occurred in ancient times.71 It is called the Moosehide Slide or Ëdhä’ dä’dhë’cha, literally “weathered Moosehide hanging,” because it resembles a large moose skin stretched out to dry. Oral history suggests that a village was buried by the landslide (Tyrrell 1910, 550). The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have a creation story for the slide that Elder Mary McLeod recounts as follows: In early days there were cannibals everywhere and they bothered people. So one time people climb hill near where is now Moosehide to get above them. Lots of big trees on these hills that time. People had only axe made of sharp rock in those days. They cut down the biggest tree with stone axe and they throw that tree down the hill on cannibals. That tree start big slide. It kill all the cannibals. That slide is shaped like hide of moose so people call the place Moosehide (Mary McLeod, quoted in Cruikshank 1979, 180, and in TK Nom 2017, 39–40).72

The slide was an essential landmark for the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, who used it as a cultural identifier and symbol of the land to which they belonged. It is from the slide that the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in village of Moosehide takes its name. For most Klondike stampeders boating down the Yukon River to Dawson City in the spring of 1898, catching sight of the slide was the first indication that they were nearing the Klondike region. Depicted in photographs and artwork, the image of Dawson City overseen by the massive land slide provides a dramatic setting for the community that has

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Brideau et al. (2007) assume that the geological event occurred prior to 210 AC, while other sources date back to around A.D. 1300 (see plate in Moosehide Village). Approximately 300 metres across and 100 metres high, the gravel scar exposes serpentine rock and asbestos, common in the area. A large jumble of boulders and rock remains at the base of the slide, giving way to a small plateau that serves as a space for public events. 72 According to a story told by Samuel J. Whitehouse, raiders chased a man up the hill where the slide is now. He took refuge under some trees and near a pile of rocks that had been piled in anticipation of just this event. When the warriors got close, the man pulled out the stabilizing roots which caused a landslide. The rocks crashed down on the warriors and killed all but one man who carried the message back to his people (Sights and Sites 2018).

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remained virtually unchanged since the days of the Klondike Gold Rush and continues to serve as an important landmark. Together, these places are part of the land and the rich cultural heritage of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in that they claimed back, strengthening their peoples’ identity and community development.

6.6

Custodian of a Living Heritage: The Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre

The Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre (DZCC https://danojazho.ca/), or “Long Ago House,” is the gateway to TH heritage (see Fig. 6.12). It is an impressive representation of and refuge for the living TH culture, an expression of TH identity and a voice of their community. Dänojà Zho is the public face of the Nation and a place where they exhibit, celebrate and share their traditional and contemporary experiences and way of life with the world on their own terms. At the same time, the centre is furthering their own understanding about their history, culture and identity, and it is an important place for empowerment, capacity building and community development. Yukon historian David Neufeld has described the centre as “a community workshop celebrating cultural identity, creating confident new leaders and helping to build a Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in community” (Neufeld 2018, exhibit panel). It is a meeting place for cultural activities, performances and special events that celebrate TH traditions and contemporary lifestyle; it is a place of dance and storytelling, of collecting and showing artifacts. It is a symbol of Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in history, perseverance, pride and hope – for visitors and the community.

Fig. 6.12 Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre in Dawson City. (Photo by Susemihl)

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Custodian of a Living Heritage: The Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre

6.6.1

387

Gateway to Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage

With its unique architecture and panoramic view of the Yukon River, the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre explores the history, traditions and experiences of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in. Even the architecture of the centre reflects TH heritage. The modern building expresses the ideas and lifestyle of a mobile people and their experience on the land that have made their home in a harsh climate. Located on the Dawson waterfront, the centre allows for excellent vistas of the TH territory, up to Tr’ochëk and down to Moosehide, reaffirming and celebrating the traditional home of the Hän. It is oriented towards the river, as it would be in traditional Hän positioning of structures. As one of the few buildings to be exempted from Dawson’s historic guidelines, it constitutes a notable exception to the Dawson Style. Its structure recognizes both the traditional and contemporary living culture of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in with references to traditional wooden structures, such as the winter shelters made out of timber and salmon-drying racks, expressed in a modern style.73 The architecture also reflects the different faces and roles of the building and the seasons – winter as a time to rest in the circular shelter and summer as a time full of activity, drying fish or tanning hides on delicate structures by the edge of the river. Additionally, the landscaping creates a natural outdoor amphitheatre and spaces for workshops. It is a source of pride that the facility was constructed by Hän Construction and local Indigenous carpenters. The planning of the centre reflects the determination and vision of the people and their desire to tell a different story to the public than the Gold Rush story. As TH artist Jackie Olson, one of the initiators of the centre, remembers: “It rose from the desire to give a strong presence in the traditional territory of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, that would speak to and for us and would not be bound to the ‘gold rush’ era. The centre would show that we are a strong people” (Jackie Olson 2009, DZCC homepage). When, in 1994, the proposal to construct an interpretive centre that would preserve and promote cultural awareness and exchange social differences was approved by the General Assembly, a group of TH women74 involved in heritage, education and cultural development pursued the project. While the community of Dawson City was engaged in planning a decade of events to celebrate the Klondike Gold Rush, the TH did not join in. Working with the Klondike Centennial Society as a partner, the TH proposed the cultural centre as an anchor to a larger waterfront beautification centennial project and secured funding from the Yukon Government and the Nation. 73

The building was designed by Kobayashi and Zedda Architects of Whitehorse. In 1999, the Architectural Institute of British Columbia recognized the building’s excellence with the Lieutenant Governor of British Columbia’s Award of Merit in Architecture (kobayashi + zedda 2021). 74 When Diane Huddle, Band Manager from 1993 to 1996, was given approval at the General Assembly to take this project forward, she gathered a small focus group including Jackie Olsen (art and cultural development), Debbie Nagano and Edith Fraser (both community representatives involved in education and cultural history), and Jenny Christianson (Chief and Council Representative) (DZCC exhibit panel 2018).

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The centre opened in 1998, and, since 2001, it has been operating as a year-round facility with visitor programs and activities. Additional financial assistance represents a commitment by Chief and Council to support the vision and goals of the TH Heritage Department and opened new doorways to community outreach, sharing and healing. Over the years, Dänojà Zho has been balancing community programming with cultural tourism. As the architecture reflects the different seasons, the centre itself has “a dual personality”: In the summer, it reaches out to visitors by offering guided tours, programs and events. In the fall and winter, when the tourist season is over, the centre welcomes school groups and provides community-based activities, programs and events, reaching out to the community and providing learning opportunities through workshops, lectures, performances, films and gatherings. The Dänojà Zho Cultural Center is a combination of two buildings, accommodating a small theatre, two galleries and a museum shop. Visitors usually start their round of the centre with the film Nihè Dähchʼe Shò Trʼinląy. The 15-min film, narrated and produced by the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, introduces visitors to the TH people and land. In the film, Elders talk about history and culture, present places and artifacts, explain the concept of TH self-government and celebrate their living community. Visitors appreciate the abundance of information and the way it is presented, with a general intent of sharing and respecting cultures. The film presents the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in in modern society, making them approachable, and the welcoming attitude inspires visitors to ask questions and interact with them afterwards. The Hammerstone Gallery hosts a permanent exhibition that portrays TH history, including their perspective on the Gold Rush era. The exhibition is arranged in a circular room around a bench and artificial trees in the middle that serve as an invitation for the visitor to rest and take in the information and reflect on it. The exhibit encompasses artifacts, posters and photographs of places and people, following a historical timeline. Models of a wooden frame shelter covered with hides, a drying rack for salmon, a fish weir and a fish wheel and a collection of artifacts such as hide scrapers and other tools, luggage bags made from caribou hide, babiche and birch-bark baskets can be examined (see Fig. 6.13). The texts on the panels are concise and easy to read, photos illustrate their content. Current exhibition pieces are snowshoes, traditional and modern pieces of clothing and Indigenous art. Following the timeline, the tour guide75 explains the types of shelters, traditional activities such as hunting and fishing, children’s chores, traditional techniques of making glue or medicine and shares personal anecdotes and experiences. Describing the use of spruce sap and the production of a spruce salve, guide Sammy Taylor explained: “We usually have it in our gift shop, but it sells out right away. Once people know that we’ve got it, they buy it instantly, just because it’s a pain picking the sap off the tree, so not a lot of people do it. But people love having it, because you put it on anything” (Sammy Taylor 2018). Visitors are eager to listen to personal accounts and engage with the tour guide. This exchange of experience and

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I attended a tour through Hammerstone Gallery with Sammy Taylor in August 2018.

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Fig. 6.13 Exhibition at the Hammerstone Gallery at the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre. (Photo by Susemihl)

information gives visitors a feeling of welcome and mutual respect; different cultures and people are meeting on equal terms. At the site, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in are in a situation where they have the broader knowledge and function as invaluable source of information. Part of the exhibition is dedicated to the time of the Klondike Gold Rush. Telling this story is a decision that has both positive and negative aspects for the TH, as DZCC manager and curator Glenda Bolt explains: I don’t always want to do the call and response to the Gold Rush, although that is very valuable and it’s very much needed by the visitors, and they come in and they ask for it. They say, oh, finally we get to hear what the First Nations thought of the Gold Rush. So, we have to have that story somewhere in this facility, in a way that people can understand. When time comes, I think there will be a shift where that story – which is somewhat told in the Hammerstone Gallery, because of the impact of the Klondike Gold Rush to the signing of the land claim, so it’s just that bit of story – that story will be told elsewhere, and maybe in different ways, within the facility. And then we get to use that space to tell some other amazing stories, because that is not the only story that Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have to tell (Interview with Bolt 2018).

While the visitors are eager to discover the TH perspective on the gold rush era, as this time had a tremendous impact on TH society, this part of history represents just a tiny glimpse of TH history and there are many other stories to tell about TH way of life, which are more important for TH identity building and should be given more space. The Gathering Room hosts changing exhibitions that reflect TH rich and vibrant culture and tell stories that interests the TH community. In 2018, the exhibition at the Gathering Room celebrated twenty years of the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre, illustrating the building’s history, the living heritage the centre represents and its role as ‘cultural gateway’ and source of pride. The room is also used for seminars, meetings,

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receptions, presentations and concerts. The hallway connecting the Hammerstone Gallery with the Gathering Room is used for changing exhibitions such as the “Trees of Life: Our Story in the Land,” (2018) and the project “Weaving Voices: A Journey of Reconciliation” by Dawson artists and poets. Furthermore, DZCC invites visitors to enjoy topical displays, art shows and film presentations, participate in walking tours and hands-on activities76 and take souvenirs home from the gift shop such as hand-made clothing, beaded footwear and jewellery. Dänojà Zho is not only a museum, but a cultural centre that presents “living culture” and the community influences the centre’s exhibitions, as Bolt stresses: “It’s the people that are important, not the objects; it’s the stories that we are telling about how and why it is the way it is and how it is to live that life” (Interview with Bolt 2018). At the same time, the centre has artifacts on display and “straddles this ground between museum, educational centre and cultural centre” (ibid.). As it is run as part of the TH Heritage Department, Bolt works closely together with the department and Elders, always pursuing a community approach: Citizens and Elders are sought after for assistance, generally through the Heritage Department. [. . .] Sometimes I go out and do a quick oral history on something [. . .]. Generally, I tell them what we are dreaming of and what we are planning, and if I need direct assistance, then I’ll ask for it directly. If someone is an expert on trapping or hunting, then I’ll grab a couple of people and say, come and give me your input. For us that is the normal way of doing things, because it’s community-based; it’s coming out of the Heritage Department, who has that direct link and is a conduit to the community, to the Elders and the citizens (Interview with Bolt 2018).

Bolt often connects to projects and programs of the Heritage Department concerning research, language, health, social issues or truth and reconciliation, and when the department has gathered all necessary information, the centre turns them into an exhibition: “It’s really a collaboration and a lot of communication through the Heritage Department, and out into the Elders’ Council, the Elders, the citizens, the artists, trying to get people involved, always keeping in the back of my mind my audience, which is of course always Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in first, then visitors, and school groups as well” (Interview with Bolt 2018). Usually, she has “a long list of things that are worth chatting about, that are for us just normal things about the culture, stories of Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in success to share with the world” (ibid.).

6.6.2

Expectations and Education of Visitors

The centre is also a place to share with those who wish to visit and learn. Approximately 6000 visitors come each year to DZCC, carrying different expectations, ideas and knowledge about Indigenous people. Most visitors come prepared for the Programs that are offered are the “Wild and Rosie Apothecary Program,” the “Beading Circle,” “Bannock and Sourdough: Food for the Trail” and “Sasquatch, Cannibals and the Unexplained” (DZCC homepage 2019, https://danojazho.ca).

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visit, as they are sent by the Visitor Information Center across the street and have been informed about the exhibitions, film and tour. Bolt explains: “If a person walks into this door, they know what they’re getting. They’ve come here not by chance. They’ve read something about us; they’ve been spoken to about us at the Visitor Centre. Very few people walk into the door and say, so what is this place. People know that they are going to be hearing from and meeting the First Nations” (Interview with Bolt 2018). The vast majority, therefore, is interested in learning about Indigenous people, and the centre provides an insight into lifestyle and culture of the Nation, as TH guide Sammy Taylor explains: For a lot of people, it is a big eye-opener. They don’t really know anything that goes on up here. They are from completely other places of the world, so they come here and it’s eye-opening for them seeing how we live and how we experience things and how we move forward. Lots of people that come here, well, I wouldn’t want to say they are ignorant, but they don’t know a lot (Interview with Taylor 2018).

Most visitors are open to new information and are enthusiastic to learn the perspectives of the Indigenous people. While some “people come here and they don’t get it at all”, according to Taylor, most people’s responses are affirmative: “There is always going to be some negative, but mostly they are positive. Some people have a certain mindset on us, and you cannot really change everybody’s mindset. And some people don’t really get the way we are looking at things” (ibid.). While Canadian and Australian visitors are usually informed about the situation of Indigenous people through political actions in their countries, international visitors know little about First Nations. Things are changing, however, as Bolt asserts: People are very eager to hear what the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have to say. People are a little savvier; they’ve heard bits and bytes of the national story. Internationally, it’s still pretty hard. People come in here and say, where are the Indians? [. . .] I think our audience is much more sensitive; it’s an aware audience, open to hearing whatever they hear. The Australian visitors that come in really get it, because they are very much involved in their own Indigenous politics (Interview with Bolt 2018).

The idea of self-government and the message of living together as one community in Dawson City are still new for many Canadian visitors, though, and some are even now trying to deny the cultural genocide of Indigenous people in Canada, according to Bolt: We get a lot of Canadians and they are aware through the media of many different topics that they want to find out about here, because they already see the changes. They ask, where does everyone live, and I’m like, right there, we all live together. That’s so different in the rest of Canada, but it also breaks open something in their minds, saying, you can do that? And I’m like, yes, you can (Interview with Bolt 2018).

While American visitors discover differences in the political situation and have difficulties understanding Indigenous self-government, for many, it’s a place to counter stereotypes: I think a lot of American visitors are struggling to understand what’s going on here in comparison to the system in the United States. They are quite impressed with what’s going on in the Yukon. What we want to give them is what we can – a little bit of information about

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why things work here. But we are not representational of all of Canada; we are just representational of the Yukon and of our community. It’s kind of an opportunity for visitors to see a different perspective, break away some of the stereotypes that they might have – whether they are positive or negative (ibid.).

In any case, for most visitors the centre is a safe place to ask questions, as Bolt continues: One thing I do hear visitors saying is, I’ve really wanted to ask a question, and I think this is the place I can ask. It may have nothing to do with the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, and it may have nothing to do with gold. It’s just trying to figure out what has happened in our relationships in Canada with Indigenous people and they are trying to sort it out in their minds, and they want somewhere safe where they can talk about it. And this is the safe place where they can do this (Interview with Bolt 2018).

Indeed, the centre places great emphasis on each individual visitor and aims at making a connection with them. Visitors want to meet and talk to the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in. There is a tea table in the hall and often the staff sits down and talks with visitors “about whatever their line of interest is,” as Bolt explains: “We like it when people come in on their own, so that we can give them one on one [. . .] and have a visit with them and give them that connection, welcome them into our traditional territory, as an individual. I see you, you see me; now we know each other, let’s exchange some ideas” (Interview with Bolt 2018). That way, staff and visitors exchange thoughts, or visitors can engage with artists in the ‘Creative Corner’. A World Heritage designation, though, might bring changes to the facility, and Bolt assumes that, while it will bring more visitors, it will change their expectations and “the way people look” at the centre: “I think they will have higher standards for here. They will be expecting world class when what they are getting is communitybased [. . .]. They may be looking for something else” (Interview with Bolt 2018). The designation might also lead to the establishing of a TH Tourism Department, however, which is much desired by Bolt, as the management of tourism is currently handled, to a large degree, by DZCC staff.

6.6.3

Dänojà Zho as a Community Centre

Maybe even more important than serving as a communications tool for visitors is the engagement with TH citizens. In the winter, when tourism is slow, the center is open for community-based activities, as Bolt states: “It’s our community, our Tr’ondëk community, our Dawson community, and it’s this constant pouring out for people to come and absorb” (Interview with Bolt 2018). Indeed, Indigenous arts have been an important avenue for cultural exploration, and Dänojà Zho has engaged in the researching, sharing, and rejuvenating of cultural practices. The creative atmosphere of the spaces and exhibitions hosts a wide diversity of events and groups such as arts and crafts workshops and Hän language classes, and DZCC is a place for working and learning together. Seeing it as a source of pride, Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and their guests receive free entrance, and many make use of this offer:

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If they contributed a photograph or an object, they’ll come in, and they’ll bring their family, and they come and see their photograph and their image in the exhibit. There are some who come every year, and they want to see the movie, and they watch it time and time again, and they feel the pride, and they want to make that connection with the centre (Interview with Bolt 2018).

A major task for Bolt and her staff is to communicate arts and culture within the community and host events such as films, plays, music events, lecture series and slide shows. The centre has invited many Indigenous and non-Indigenous artists, dancers, musicians, film makers, writers, storytellers and visiting researchers to share their perspective, experience and gifts and to discover artifacts, history and culture.77 DZCC is seen as the “premier cultural centre in the Yukon” and many art institutions want to partner with it: If I don’t have the money for something, I find someone who wants to partner. Many people now are mandated – well, it is through the mandate, but they are both morally and politically obligated to find a way to re-connect or connect with the First Nations through Chief Justice Murray Sinclair’s list of recommendations for reconciliation, and people are actively doing it. We actually see people coming in here [. . .], they are here because to actively do something (Interview with Bolt 2018).

Dänojà Zho is also an important base for community celebrations, hosting a variety of events throughout the year. On Discovery Day, for example, the centre celebrates the days of the Klondike Gold Rush, sharing the Indigenous perspective of the story, and on National Indigenous Peoples Day, residents and visitors are invited to share in TH festivities and food. The semi-annual Myth and Medium Program in February, presented by the TH Heritage Department and DZCC, is a heritage highlight, celebrating Indigenous food, culture and identity. Generally, the centre is wellgrounded in the community and partnerships play an important role in many of the events and programs, since by working together all partners are meeting mutual goals and working towards community reconciliation. The centre has also supported many cultural initiatives that have been important parts of cultural gatherings and events. Members of the Hän Singing Group, for example, have worked at DZCC, playing a part in celebrating the return of the Hän songs, and the Raven Spirit Dance Company was started at DZCC, as TH choreographer Michelle Olson reflects: It was within this building and all the spirit that it holds, that I started my dance career and started Raven Spirit Dance. [. . .] Dänojà Zho has always offered me perspective as an artist, has given me grounding. Because of this strong foundation, I am able to go out into the world with strength, sense of purpose and gratitude (Michelle Olson 2018, Raven Spirit Dance Society, exhibit panel).

Olson’s dance company creates and performs works that are inspired by Indigenous traditions and the reality of Indigenous life today. For performance at Dänojà Zho,

The 2003 exhibit “From Our Hands” featured artwork created by Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in citizens, and in 2005, Eugene Alfred, a Northern Tutchone artist from Pelly Crossing, shared his skills at a carving workshop. 77

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Olson created two works, Songs of Shär Cho (Songs of Big Bear) and Łuk Täga Näche (Salmon Girl Dreaming), exploring themes of connection, transformation, resilience and renewal (ibid.). The centre also plays an important role for reconciliation. It was the starting point for the Reconciliation Walks in town, and in 2007, Dänojà Zho hosted events connected to the residential school legacy. The Library and Archives Canada touring exhibit “Where are the Children: Healing the Legacy of Residential School” showed photographs from residential schools across Canada. The issue was important within the TH community, and as part of their own healing journey, a group of TH residential school survivors compiled the K’änächá Scrapbook Project. Besides publishing the results in a book, a companion community-based exhibit Tr’ehuch’in Näwtr’uhäh’a – Finding Our Way Home was created and exhibited at the centre. Opening with a healing ceremony, it gave voice to community survivors and addressed the gap between survivors and community (Clarke and the K’änächá Group 2009). Education is another major task of the centre, and the local schools are important partners of education outreach. The centre provides programs, stories or content supplementing the school curricula, space for children and youth to meet community members and Elders, watch films and have “a relationship with the building and the people working in it,” as Bolt explains: “Our staff, many of the young Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in citizens, also reach out to community Elders to share their life experience, wisdom and advice” (Interview with Bolt 2018). There is also cooperation with other institutions in town, as for the workshop “The Secret Life of Artifacts”, where students visited the Dawson City Museum, Parks Canada and Dänojà Zho to examine and research a variety of artifacts. As a resource, Dänojà Zho has had a profound impact on many TH people who have worked at and engaged with the centre. It has impacted their identity and cultural awareness, and, indeed, functioned as a gateway to their own heritage and identity. Many Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in grew up without knowledge or access to their traditional culture and history. Working at the centre has started a journey back to their culture and community, and young people especially have gained knowledge of traditional practice, plants, medicines and Hän language and history. Their experience at the centre has had a lasting influence on their outlook and on their traditional culture, installing pride, self-esteem and a connection to the TH culture, as the many statements of staff demonstrate (see Box 6.1). Working at Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre has been an important part of the ancestral practice of passing on and teaching of oral histories to the world about their people and of how people were raised as Hän women or men on their traditional territory. Experiences with the centre have inspired many to engage with the community and share personal knowledge and experiences with the community and visitors. Over the past decades, many Hän have worked at Dänojà Zho, sharing their perceptive on the past, present and future of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in. While some come to the centre with knowledge or life experience, others come with family stories, eager to learn and share. Everyone brings something to the circle which they continue to share as they venture onto new paths, and many more programs and initiatives have been born from these experiences.

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Community Commitment: Education and Healing through Heritage

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Box 6.1 DZCC Staff, “The DZCC as a Place of Learning and Sharing” Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre was my cultural gateway back to the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Traditional Territory. I hadn’t been connected to my culture since I left Dawson City in my teenage years. It was not until I was hired to work as the first Heritage Interpreter Trainee at DZCC in 1998 that I started my journey back to my culture and back to my community (Georgette McLeod 2018, Hän Language Administrator and former Cultural Centre Coordinator, exhibit panel). My true identity became real when I started my job as a heritage interpreter at the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre in 2008 – the history of my people, finally embraced through the opportunity to learn and teach (Kyle Van Every 2018, Lead Heritage Interpreter, exhibit panel). Working at Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre has helped me learn so much about my culture and my history [. . .] this job has taught me so much about my identity. I’ve gained knowledge on traditional practice, plants, and medicines, as well as our traditional Hän language and history. The things I’ve learned are priceless to me, and I love being able to teach others about it. [. . .] I’m proud to say that I’m TH and a part of this culture (Asia Procee 2018, DZCC Heritage Interpreter, exhibit panel). My cultural traditions have always been a part of my life. Working at DZCC gave me the voice to share our heritage with visitors and spread my families’ knowledge. I learned that I loved sharing stories and connecting with people from all around the world. I think the centre is great for bringing people together and getting hands-on connections with everything we do (Allison Anderson 2018, TDZCC Heritage Interpreter, exhibit panel). I really enjoyed my career at the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre. This position forced me to grow beyond myself in many ways, also reinforced my own pride and appreciation of who I am, Hän Hwech’in and thru my mother and grandmother Magdalene, of the Crow Clan, niece to Chief Isaac, granddaughter to Percy De Wolfe, daughter to Sarah Roberts and William De Wolfe (Elder Freda Roberts 2018, former Cultural Centre Coordinator, exhibit panel).

6.7

Community Commitment: Education and Healing through Heritage

Besides the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre as a venue for cultural programming and Tr’ochëk as an important heritage site, there are other spheres where Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in work with and teach their heritage and traditional knowledge. In that regard, the TH government and the Heritage Department have especially been working to integrate heritage into education, primarily in language programs and youth projects. The Nation has supported such cultural activities, which have been

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designed to promote community, family and individual healing and growth, and TH leadership is working to ensure that their children have a solid foundation in their culture as well as the skills and resources to live in today’s world. One of the core functions is to provide opportunities for the community and visitors to participate in a variety of cultural programs. Most of them are geared toward increasing awareness of their heritage and promoting traditional knowledge and skills. The World Heritage nomination for Tr’ondëk-Klondike has acknowledged the processes that foster empowerment and capacity building, and recent initiatives such as culture camps, language classes and community gatherings are part of this TH heritage work.

6.7.1

Teaching Traditional Knowledge and Heritage

Education is considered one of the major empowerment and awareness-raising strategies. Heritage education, which includes educating awareness for TH history, traditional knowledge and language, traverses all departments and touches all ages as well as Indigenous and non-Indigenous citizens of Dawson City. Many departments have a close working relationship with the TH Heritage Department, especially in terms of promoting TH language and culture. One of the most important departments, in that respect, is Human Resources, Education and Training (HRET), which supports other departments by helping with applications and recruitment, facilitating training, professional development, team building and cultural awareness workshops. TH Education staff manages programs and services for Kindergarten to Grade 12 by engaging with the federal and territorial education departments and liaising with the local high school to support TH students and their families improve their educational and personal well-being.78 TH also operates the Tr’inke Zho Childcare Centre, a daycare facility for First Nations and non-First Nations children, and its Aboriginal Head Start program provides tradition and culture-based learning for Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in children ages 3–5. The commitment to teaching TH history and culture is also part of the Final Agreement, as implementing traditional government is easier if citizens are familiar with First Nation culture, tradition and world view. Awareness and knowledge of TH history and culture as well as TH perspective on regional history are important for Indigenous and non-Indigenous people living together. For that reason, a teaching program – Yukon First Nation 101 – has been developed, based on the training designed and delivered by the First Nations Initiatives Department of Yukon College. The program is a requirement at Yukon College and was modified by each Yukon First Nation. In Dawson City, the course Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in 101 (TH 101) is taught by TH heritage specialist Jody Beaumont and TH Elders, through the TH

HRET also administers funding for post-secondary studies and training, and, in 2018, fifty TH students were attending full-time college and university programs all over Canada (TH 2018, 16–17). 78

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Heritage Department. It is open to all citizens, Indigenous and non-Indigenous, and has been a requirement for all employees of the TH government.79 Since people in Dawson City live in TH traditional territory, they need to have a basic understanding of TH history and culture, as Beaumont emphasises: Canadian history is commonly told from a colonial perspective; many people have misconceptions and misinformation through no fault of their own. Currently there is a big movement toward correcting this. If we become aware of the reality of the past and present, we can work to improve (Beaumont n.d., 3).

The course helps people to better understand the country and community they live in and the relationship between Canada and First Nations, as TH Elders state: “It’s important to us that our families, friends, neighbors and guests to our community understand why we are the way we are” (quoted in Beaumont n.d., 3). It touches on TH history, worldviews, culture, values and lifestyle, as well as such issues as the Indian Act, stereotypes, residential schools, land claims and self-government. Principles of reconciliation are leading the way. Participants engage in lectures, discussions, films and role-play. They are invited to learn more about their ancestors, as Angie Joseph-Rear asserts: “All I knew was that my band was band number twelve; I didn’t know anything, of status or what it was about” (Per. conversation with JosephRear 2018). Participants are, thus, making connections within the community and starting network thinking. Some of the subjects discussed in class provoke strong emotional reactions. Acknowledging the learning environment of participants and instructors, the people teaching the course want to convey that, as Beaumont (n.d., 4) phrases it, “no-one is responsible for actions of people in the past, or for misinformation we have been given,” but “we are responsible for our attitudes and actions today; by becoming aware of First Nation issues and situation we can become part of improving things.” Besides education, the TH heritage department has several projects researching heritage sites and places, such as the Clinton Creek Cultural Research and the Oral History Project. Hän have an enduring association with the area of Dätl’äkay dëk from ancient times to the present, and it is still important to TH citizens, for hunting, fishing, trapping and gathering. Presently, the governments of Canada, Yukon and TH have been working together to clean up the site and address options for a site remediation plan.80

79

In 2018, I participated in the TH 101-class. Other participants, Indigenous and non-Indigenous, were residents of Dawson City, working at the local mining department, the hospital, visitors centre, post office and church. 80 In 1957 asbestos was discovered at Clinton Creek, a tributary of the Fortymile River, and an area that was a trade and travel corridor for the Hän, approximately 100 km northwest of Dawson. The Cassiar Asbestos Corporation Ltd. acquired the claims and the site was occupied by Canada’s most northerly open pit mine, a mill and company town. During its ten-year operation, 16 million tonnes of serpentine rock, containing 940,000 tons of white asbestos, were mined from the three pits at Clinton Creek and over 60 million tonnes of waste rock was deposited in the valley. In 2008, the mine was closed (Dobrowolsky and Winton 2017).

398

6.7.2

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Indigenous Independence, Resilient Relations: The Tr’ondëk-Klondike

Culture Camps on the Land: First Hunt and First Fish

Indigenous teachings always involve the land and natural and cultural resources, since the land holds people close to their roots, their families and their stories. Tangible and intangible cultural heritage connects people with their land, language and culture. For that reason, culture camps such as First Hunt and First Fish81 have been initiated, many of which take place at the Land of Plenty, Cache Creek, Moosehide and Tr’ochëk. The tradition of the camps was revived by the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in in the 1990s, introducing community youth to their first hunt under the guidance of experienced hunters and Elders. In fall, TH youth travel up north to spend time in the country that was an important food source for their ancestors. At the camps, they learn about the land and the ways of its ‘animal inhabitants’, First Nations culture and hunting. Elders and volunteers from the Canadian Rangers teach the youth skills such as map-reading, firearms safety and winter survival as well as the traditional protocols around hunting, as Hän Language Administrator Georgette McLeod explains: It’s all based on Da’ole, which is the traditional Han law and beliefs. These are the things you need to know in order to conduct yourself properly in hunts – for example, how you think of the animal, how you take care of it when you’ve taken its life. One of the first things you must do is cut off the animal’s head and turn it away from the body, so it doesn’t see itself being butchered. It’s a sign of respect for the animal because it’s understood that its spirit is still very strong and present, and the animal is providing for you and your family (McLeod, quoted in Robertson 2012).

Back in Dawson, the youth share the meat with their community at a feast to celebrate the young hunters and the successful hunt. In accordance with custom, Elders receive the remaining meat (Dobrowolsky 2003, 114; TH 2021). Other camps such as First Fish, First Trapper and Fall Harvest Camp (BowerBramadat 2018; McLeod 2014), financed by the TH Natural Resources department,82 offer young people a similar blend of ancient and modern knowledge. In summer camps, the youth enjoy a variety of activities ranging from traditional Hän and Dene games to skills workshops, learning how a fish wheel works, painting murals, rafting down the Klondike River, building a shelter at Tr’ochëk and camping at the Land of Plenty (TH 2018, 4). At First Fish, during a week of camping at Moosehide, participants learn how to catch, clean and smoke salmon, and according to Habitat Steward Jake Duncan:

81

During my research stay in Dawson City in 2018, many Indigenous and non-Indigenous people related stories to me about First Hunt and First Fish, underlining the importance and the popularity of these camps. 82 The Natural Resources department invests an annual minimum of CAD 60,000 on management, of the salmon fishery, including research, river patrols, chum salmon harvest, cultural camps, updates to regulations, and engagement with environmental assessment processes (TK Nom 2017, 262–263).

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. . . [they learn] about resource management, salmon life cycles, salmon habitat and First Nations culture [. . .] At the end of the seven days, the kids took the fish that they had respectfully caught, cleaned and smoked to the Moosehide Gathering, where they customarily gave their first fish away to the Elders. And, as the customs goes, once the kids gave their first fish away, they returned to town as young adults (Jake Duncan, quoted in Dobrowolsky 2003, 114).

The supportive environment of the camps provides an important opportunity for youth to connect with the traditions of their ancestors and develop respect for the land and animals that have provided a livelihood for generations (Dobrowolsky 2003, 114; Joseph 2011, 2014; TH 2012; YFN 2018). The youth gain valuable knowledge of who they are and where they come from, and also how their ancestors survived and what kind of lifestyle they led. There are also special courses for women like “Women in Hunting,” teaching survival skills, traditional teachings, how to track and call, wildlife signs, hunting preparation and safety.83 Youth and adults benefit from culture camps – they learn traditional skills and gain traditional knowledge, as Mary Jane Moses relates about her experience at a hide camp: Traditional hide tanning is an art. First of all, one must have a positive mindset and attitude before beginning the process [. . .] It was a busy time, with soaking hides in the brain solution and wringing, hanging, smoking and scraping four caribou hides and one moose hide [. . .] I’m fortunate I was able to attend [. . .] and to have learned valuable skills about hide tanning. There’s many things to know: what tools are needed, like a knife for removing hair from the hide, de-fleshers for cleaning flesh from the hide, scrapers, wringers, and soap solution; how to select rotten wood for smoking; and how to set up your smoke structure. If you have everything in place and a positive mindset, then you will have excellent outcomes (Moses, quoted in TH 2013, 16).

For the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, hunting and fishing are of immense importance in terms of empowerment and capacity building, as these activities establish close connections with the land and animals and create a strong community spirit, as Susan Buggey observed: Among Aboriginal people, successful hunting also compels observance of the living forces of the land; knowledge and respect for the land and its spirits are integral to living with it. [. . .] the hunt is not an isolated event, but a stage in an on-going process that involves reciprocal relationships of power, needs, obligations, and moral responsibilities among creator, spirits, hunter, animal, and community. To achieve success, hunters must plan carefully and behave towards both spirits and animals in a respectful manner. Recognizing human characteristics in animals, they hunt in accordance with mutually understood signs. They acknowledge the gift of a successful hunt by sharing its bounty not only with their kin and community but also with the spirits who can favour their future efforts (Buggey 1999, 10).

Indeed, hunting is more than a pleasant pastime or a collection of knowledge; for the Indigenous people, it is a way of life and the practices “are deeply embedded in specific sets of social relations and ideas about how humans should relate to one 83 Northern Athapaskan peoples relied heavily on the meat from small animals, and usually women were responsible for hunting and killing these animals (Nadasdy 2003, 65).

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another as well as to animals” (Nadasdy 2003, 63; also YFN 2018). Moreover, a close relationship with the land promotes health and spiritual wellness. To increase TH citizens’ knowledge of local plants and resources and to promote traditional values, practices and diets, the TH also have their own community greenhouse, taken care of by community gardeners. Furthermore, the “I look after myself”-program encourages learning and healing while promoting traditional and healthy lifestyle choices, and in classes people learn to make jam, dried and smoked fish, moose or caribou, teas and natural products (TH 2018, 5).

6.7.3

Language Programs

Language teaching tools are closely related with heritage and the land, and Indigenous languages and an appreciation of the fundamental role they play in the transmission of culture and values from one generation to another has been widely acknowledged. Emphasising the importance of preserving the language, Angie Joseph-Rear asserts: “We tend to overlook the importance of recognizing the cultural part of our language. We need to educate other people that our identity-languageculture are all one; one cannot survive without the other” (quoted in Dobrowolsky 2003, 112). For the last few decades, TH Elders have been working with TH citizens, linguists, archaeologists and others to document and foster the Hän language and culture. In Dawson City, there are only a handful of fluent speakers left. The rapid decline of the language in this region is mainly due to the dramatic changes brought by the flood of outsiders with the Gold Rush of 1896. In 1991, the Hän Language Program was set up at the Robert Service School, offering language classes and cultural gatherings and producing learning materials. The Hän work in partnership with the Yukon Native Language Centre84 in Whitehorse, which promotes an awareness of the richness and beauty of Yukon First Nations languages and provides training, research and program support to assist in implementing self-determined goals for preserving and enhancing ancestral languages. The Centre has, thus, hosted Hän literacy sessions, and director John Ritter notes: Working with several key fluent speakers over the years, we have developed an impressive array of teaching and learning materials for the language. The recent gathering here demonstrated – yet again – that younger community members are actively engaged in learning and revitalizing their ancestral language. They are spirited and enthusiastic (Ritter, quoted in Robertson 2012).

The close connection between language and lands is also demonstrated in teaching materials. The TH Heritage Department, with assistance from the Yukon Native Language Centre, developed the story booklet, Lejit Natazre – Georgette Goes Hunting. It is the first of a series of booklets documenting the way of life on the land, including berry picking and fishing. Those skills include the traditional 84

See Yukon Native Language Centre: http://www.ynlc.ca/

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Community Commitment: Education and Healing through Heritage

401

protocols around hunting. The booklet features photos of Georgette McLeod (whose name in Hän is Lejit), a heritage department employee steeped in TH history and culture. The photos in the booklet were taken during McLeod’s first hunt in 2005 by her colleague. Both women participated in the caribou hunting camp held each fall by the First Nation. McLeod remembers: “That year was really mild and there were a lot of Porcupine caribou around. My husband had bought me a rifle for my birthday, and that was the first time I’d shot a caribou. We got 13 or 14 caribou at the camp that year” (quoted in Robertson 2012). The bilingual text and photos of the book take the reader through McLeod’s preparations for the hunt and her killing and skinning of the animal. It took time for Angie Joseph-Rear, the Hän language educator, and the two Elders Percy Henry and Edward Roberts to find the right words for the story, and sometimes they relied on the Eagle dialect of the Hän language for words that would fit. The book shows that traditional skills and values are still important to the people today, as McLeod underlines: “It seems to have more of an impact using real people. It shows we’re still getting out and spending time on the land, and we’re using the skills we’ve acquired from our Elders” (ibid.). Another example of language revival is the play Beat of the Drum.85 In 1996, a group of TH women came together to dramatize a dark period in Hän history. The play tells the story of how the Hän had to deal with separation from land and culture and the devastation of disease, residential school, alcoholism and loss of identity. The play also served as an inspiration for the people, who drew strength from their traditions to heal and revitalize their culture, symbolized by the return of the drum and the songs that were thought to be lost forever. A display in the gallery at DZCC commemorates the play and its intentions (see Fig. 6.14).

6.7.4

Reclaiming Songs and Dances: The Moosehide Gathering

An important celebration aimed at restoring TH heritage and culture is the Moosehide Gathering, which takes place every two years in August and welcomes visitors to Moosehide village from across Northern Canada, Alaska and beyond to experience Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in culture and hospitality (see Fig. 6.15). The gathering relates to the return of the people’s songs and dances and the gänhäk, a dancing stick. For a long time, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in did not know any of their songs and dances, and they had to relearn them, as Chief Roberta Joseph explains: “In my generation, I never knew that we had songs and I always wished that we did, and if we did it would have been nice to learn those songs” (Joseph, in Rudyk 2018). This has changed within the past years.

85 Beat of the Drum was written and first performed by Margaret Kormendy, Debbie Nagano, Freda Roberts, Edith Fraser, Jackie Olson, Michelle Olson, and Kyrie Nagano (Dobrowolsky 2003, 110).

Fig. 6.14 Display at the DZCC commemorating the play Beat of the Drum. (Photo by Susemihl)

Fig. 6.15 Private residences of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in at Moosehide. (Photo by Susemihl)

6.7

Community Commitment: Education and Healing through Heritage

403

Traditionally, the Hän were known as great singers and dancers throughout their territory and beyond. When in the late 1800s their way of life was threatened by tens of thousands of gold seekers flooding into the region, Chief Isaac realized that their culture and traditions were at risk under the growing influence of missionaries and the non-Indigenous society. In 1912, he, therefore, entrusted many Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in songs and dances to Hän relatives at Lake Mansfield, the Tanana people of Alaska, for safekeeping, along with the gänhäk or ceremonial dancing stick. After a few days of feasting, singing and dancing Chief Isaac and his people from Moosehide and Eagle left without the gänhäk and the songs (Beaumont 2014; Rudyk 2018; DZCC panels). After this, it is uncertain if the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in simply stopped singing and dancing. Potlatches play a significant role in First Nations lives. People would sing and dance to honour the deceased, their families and clan, which could last anything from a couple of days to a couple of weeks, depending on the wealth and standing of the deceased. The leader of the dance group would hold a dance stick, the gänhäk, and guide the drummers. While male dancers surrounded the drummers and the dance leader, the female dancers formed the outer circle (Beaumont 2014). When potlatches were banned in 1884 by the colonial government, the TH still hosted some at Moosehide. With increasing influence from an outside government, however, the people lost their traditions when families were separated and children sent to residential schools. When they came back home years later, many knew nothing of their culture and language and had no bonds to the community. They were strangers within their own families, and many had forgotten about potlatches and songs (Beaumont 2014). During the 1960s, however, Yukon’s First Nations started to demonstrate that their way of life was not lost, and they began to host “Indian Days” as a way of encouraging people to celebrate their culture and share it with other Indigenous and non-Indigenous people. Land claims became a heated and much debated topic in the Yukon and every First Nation was involved in the process. They worked hard to determine their rights to land and a future that included their cultural ways. Following that development, in the late 1970s, Percy Henry, with assistance from the Anglican Church, organized “culture camp” programs at Moosehide for TH citizens to learn songs (Dobrowolsky 2003, 113; Beaumont 2014). Even before the Umbrella Final Agreement was signed, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in were looking for ways to revitalize culture in their community. At the “Voices of the Talking Circle: Yukon Aboriginal Languages Conference,” held in Whitehorse in 1991, the main goals for the revitalization of the Hän language was to increase the number of Hän speakers and to bring back Hän songs and dances to the cultural life of the people. During this conference, Hän gatherings were proposed to raise awareness of language and cultural matters and to share ideas for language preservation, and so the idea of the Moosehide Gathering was born. In 1992, therefore, a group of TH people travelled to Alaska and joined the “Gathering of Relations,” to observe and learn how to host a big gathering. Committed to revitalizing their ancestors’ celebrations and restoring the pride of their people, they held the first ever Moosehide Gathering in 1993. It was such a great success that the next

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Indigenous Independence, Resilient Relations: The Tr’ondëk-Klondike

gathering took place the following year. Since then, these events take place every two years, because hosting them requires a great amount of organization and volunteer effort.86 In the following years, TH people traveled to Alaska to interview Tanana Elders about the history of the songs, and Hän people from Alaska were invited to Dawson to record the songs they knew and to practice them with TH citizens. A resurgence in TH culture and learning the Hän language started, and at the Moosehide Gathering in 1996, Tanacross people came to help the TH singers learn their songs (Beaumont 2014; Rudyk 2018). The Moosehide Gathering potlatches were started by the TH in order to re-learn their songs from their teachers in Alaska. During these events, hundreds of people converge in Moosehide, and guests include representatives from all Yukon First Nations as well as relatives and friends from other parts of the country. Bonds are created and renewed, and people take part in cultural workshops, entertainment, storytelling, drumming and dancing. There are feasts of traditional food, and Yukon Indigenous culture, heritage and craftsmanship are on display. One result of these gatherings is that more and more TH adults and youth are able to sing their traditional songs and are learning how to drum and dance. The singers use a dancing stick as a part of their performance, which is a replica of the one Chief Isaac gifted to the people in Alaska. In 1998, the TH held a grand potlatch at the Moosehide Gathring to celebrate the ratification of the TH land claim. They handed out gifts to every guest to recognize their participation in this occasion, and in accepting the presents, people acknowledged their obligation as witnesses to this important event, and to make it part of their history (Dobrowolsky 2003, 114; Beaumont 2014; Interviews with Beaumont and Neufeld 2018). In 2018, the TH celebrated the 20th anniversary of the signing of the TH land claim and self-government agreements, which is an important part of contemporary cultural renewal. Learning and revitalizing the songs and dances and the effort of bringing them back to the TH community has been ceremoniously celebrated, as Chief Roberta Joseph states: “Revitalizing our culture and traditions, it empowers us and gives us self-confidence and gives back our identity to us” (Joseph, in Rudyk 2018). Even if it will take time for some of the songs to be sung again, as they are difficult to learn, McLeod claims: “These are things that [sic] are integral to our culture and I really want to see them come back home again” (quoted in Rudyk 2018). The story of the entrusting of the Hän songs and dances for safekeeping, their return to Moosehide, and TH citizens reclaiming them is one that is shared with others. It is the story of TH efforts in returning part of their culture to their homeland. When 18-year-old guide Sammy Taylor recounts the story of Chief Isaac and the Hän songs to visitors during his tour through the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre, he is interpreting history from a TH perspective (see Box 6.2). Through the stories, he expresses self-confidence and pride in his culture and way of life as a young person who grew up under TH self-

86

TH government invests approximately CAD 150,000 to host the biennial gathering (TK Nom 2017, 262–263).

6.7

Community Commitment: Education and Healing through Heritage

405

government, not under the Indian Act, and who learned history and his relationship to the land and heritage from an Indigenous perspective. Box 6.2 Sammy Taylor, “Chief Isaac and the Story of Han Songs and Dances” Chief Isaac is our most respected chief to this day. Everyone considered him a visionary man, because he has foreseen what was going to happen to our people. When the Gold Rush was happening and all the newcomers were coming in, there was an Indian Act put in place, and it said that First Nations people were not allowed to sing and dance. They were not allowed to have potlucks and gatherings, and if there were any, people would be sent to jail. [. . .] They would raid our houses quite frequently, looking for traditional clothing, and if they found anything, we would get send to jail [. . .]. We would have to hide our regalia beneath the floor boards; they would look under our beds and in the closets for regalia [. . .]. Chief Isaac saw that we were losing our culture. We were watched and not allowed to practice anything, and our culture was dying very quickly, and he got us moved down to Moosehide village. That helped a lot, but it wasn’t enough. One hill over from thirty thousand people helped out, but it was not exactly what we needed. So, he talked with many of our Elders and the community, and he agreed that we weren’t strong enough to hold our songs and dances; that they were going to die very soon. He got our singers and dancers and went down to Alaska, to Lake Mansfield and the Tanacross area. They were Han people just like us; they are our blood relatives over there. We walked over there. [. . .] Traditionally you would drum, and if they drum back, then you are received. But this was modern times, so we had rifles. We shot two in the air, and waited for two back. We didn’t hear anything for the longest time, so we walked up a little bit closer, half way up to the lake, and fired two more, and then they fired two back. The reason they didn’t fire two the first time was that they had run out of ammunition. They couldn’t find ammunition until an Elder came out and he had two shots, and he fired two back. When they fired two back, usually when you have been received you run together, because that’s your blood relatives, you want to see your family. But we stood there and put up a big white canvas sheet, and we all stood behind it. Those people were wondering what we were doing [. . .]. When they were close enough, we dropped the canvas and started firing our guns off into the air like crazy and started singing and dancing towards them. Once we finished the songs, they started asking what we were doing – this isn’t tradition. Chief Isaac said, “I’ll let you know at the end of the potlatch”. They had a week long potlatch, and at the end he brought everyone together and explained the dark times that we were going through, that we weren’t strong enough, we didn’t (continued)

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6 Indigenous Independence, Resilient Relations: The Tr’ondëk-Klondike

Box 6.2 (continued) have the power to hold our songs and dances and the dance stick anymore, and he gave it to the Lake Mansfield Tanacross people for safekeeping, and said we are going to come back when we are strong enough and have the power to hold them again. When he came back to Dawson, it was just like he had said. Within thirty years we lost everything. We didn’t even know we had a lot of songs and dances; we didn’t know anything about our culture. Just recently we started talking and asking different communities what they know about us, and everybody said, “You had the best potlucks and songs and dances.” [. . .] We wanted to revive that and started asking the Elders in our community if they know any songs and dances. They said, no, we don’t, but the Alaskan people have all our songs and dances. [. . .] the Elders over there agreed that we were strong enough and have the power to hold them again, and they gave us the dancing stick, the gänhäk, and six songs back. To this day we practice about nine of them. Last weekend, at the Moosehide Gathering, Tanacross people came over and gave us three new songs. One song is called “The Moosehide Song,” another one “Chief Isaac Song” and the third song is a prayer song. We know that the three songs were sung by our people back then. We are slowly bringing it back. We wouldn’t even have this building or anything in the community if it wasn’t for Chief Isaac. [. . .] The people in Alaska are still holding songs for us. They held them, and they don’t really know which ones are ours, just because we shared a lot of them. We did sing and dance a lot of the same ones, but we don’t know today which ones are exactly ours or which ones we share. So we started to share all of them; we started trying to learn all of their songs, and they are trying to learn all of our songs. We actually created one of our own, called the “Gwechin Song” [. . .] and it’s to call back the salmon numbers (Sammy Taylor, DZCC, 2018).

6.8

“To Tell a Balanced Perspective”: The Future of Tr’ondëk-Klondike

After a century of dealing with the loss of land and culture, the task of rebuilding a community is a difficult undertaking. The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have approached this challenge with determination and creativity. They have taken their strength and inspiration from looking to their past, their traditions and their heritage. Everything in their way of life is related to their land and heritage; this strong relationship shapes and influences all policies as well as cultural, social, educational and spiritual processes and activities. The preservation and management of heritage, thus, has important implications for Indigenous empowerment and community development, which again has been a result of TH self-government.

6.8 “To Tell a Balanced Perspective”: The Future of Tr’ondëk-Klondike

407

The TH became involved with the process of nomination for World Heritage for different reasons. First and foremost, it was a political step for even stronger recognition and a possibility to present their version of history. Besides, they participated for reasons of tourism and heritage conservation, as the designation would represent another measure for protection. The designation or UNESCO label itself, however, would not bring many changes in the management of the site, and the label can be seen as an option, not a requirement for the community. As a central stakeholder, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have been involved in the process of conservation long before the values had been articulated for the nomination, and the process of communication and collaboration has further strengthened and empowered the TH as people and nation, having established solid partnerships with Parks Canada, the Museum of Dawson City and other heritage institutions. The designation, however, would mean another level of international visibility for the people and the landscape which would influence the ways of storytelling about the region, spreading a picture of a strong First Nation.

6.8.1

Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Empowerment and Community Development through Heritage

The World Heritage site of Tr’ondëk-Klondike proposed in 2017, nominated as a developing cultural landscape, would have been a conglomerate of a number of designated heritage sites that fall within the ownership of the federal government, the Yukon government, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and private ownership. The individual sites have been subject of conservation for years, and regularly the TH and other institutions enlarge the list of heritage sites within the area. Consequently, preservation approaches and guidelines are not dependent on a UNESCO designation. Beyond the existing management plans, the Tr’ondëk-Klondike World Heritage Site Management Plan was to integrate the existing plans, and a Memorandum of Understanding outlined the responsibilities of each partner in the implementation of the Management Plan and was to establish a Stewardship Board. While the UNESCO designation has not become reality yet, the ‘site’ of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike and the nomination process have had important effects on the representation of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, their empowerment and community development. The region and the sites have been presented and interpreted in different institutions, among them the Parks Canada buildings, the Dawson City Museum and the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre (see Table 6.2). These three institutions, however, relate somewhat different stories of the history and people of the region, especially in portraying Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in history and ways of life. For the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, the site of Tr’ochëk is another important heritage site, not so much for visitors, but for their own activities. In terms of tourism and resource management, the region is of great interest to visitors and investors. While tourism and mining have been important sources of income for the region for many decades, the TH have been

↓

←

↓

↓

↓

Economic Development and Benefits

• TH Government • DZCC • TH Trust • Chief Isaac Inc. • TH Teaching Farm • mining; tourism

• Chief and Council; Elders and Youth Council • TH Government • collaborations and partnerships • TH Wellness Department • Housing & Infrastructure Department • Community Outreach Support Worker

Social Development and Benefits

• TH Heritage Department • Hän language program • employment at DZCC • Moosehide Gathering • cultural revitalization

Cultural Development and Benefits

• culture camps • Hän language program • Tr’inke Zho Childcare C. • K-12 Education Program • Community Education Liaison Coordinator • scholarships and grants • TH Teaching Farm

Community Learning and Education

Conservation and Protection Parks Canada; TH, federal and territorial governments

↓

Memorandum of Understanding; Management Plan; Stewardship Board; TH Heritage Act

Operation and Management

Spiritual Development/ Community Wellbeing

and

• Reclaiming of Culture: songs, dances, traditional activities; Hän language • Reconciliation: Moosehide Gathering; TH 101 • Relation with the land: camps, hunting, fishing, mining; Tr’ochëk

Federal government, Yukon government, Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, Private ownership

Ownership

Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Empowerment, Capacity Building and Community Development

↓

→

Parks Canada Sites and Programs (tours, programs, plays, guide, Information Centre)

↓

Tr’ochëk and Dawson City (Moosehide Slide, Dawson City Townside, incl. TH government buildings and TH subdivision)

Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre (museum with exhibitions, film, programs, gift shop; community centre for gatherings, workshops, classes, art exhibitions, film screenings)

↙↘

(Dawson City, Yukon) The Klondike Goldfields (Discovery Claim, Dredge Tailings Landscape, Mining Infrastructure)

Tr’ondëk-Klondike Yukon Riverscape from Tr’ochëk to Forty Mile (incl. Moosehide Village, Moosehide Trail as well as intangible heritage )

Dawson City Museum (exhibitions on the Klondike region and the Gold Rush, programs, film, tours, guides)

active gold mining, fishing, hunting

Resource Management

Political and Organizational Development

Public Perception Klondike Gold Rush and its myths (1896)

and

6

300.000 visitors annually; seasonal tourism; benefits for Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in community (economic, cultural)

Tourism

Designation(s) Regional and national designations; on UNESCO Tentative list since 2004; Nominated as a World Heritage Site in 2017; Proposal withdrawn in 2018 ↓

Table 6.2 Indigenous empowerment and community development through World Heritage: Tr’ondëk-Klondike

408 Indigenous Independence, Resilient Relations: The Tr’ondëk-Klondike

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enjoying the benefits since self-government was established and they have been welcoming tourists at the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre. While self-government has also been quintessential for TH empowerment and community development, TH relation to heritage and land has been a strong pillar within their struggles and developments. Politically, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have a strong socio-political standing in the community and the strength of self-government in the Yukon is ground-breaking. The government is set up in the same way as the territorial and federal government, which makes it possible to communicate equally with each other.87 Yet, the governing system is always evolving, which includes the struggle for control of land and heritage. The administration of heritage has been the responsibility of the TH Heritage Department, which is a strong statement within the political landscape of the city and region. Economically, the TH are the largest employer in Dawson City. They have established Chief Isaac Inc., a holding with many different companies, for which the TH Trust has been established as the sole shareholder, acting on behalf the TH citizens. Furthermore, they created the TH Teaching Farm, have been employed in the sectors of mining and tourism, and all taxes from people living on TH land go to the TH government (see also Fig. 6.16).88 The TH also benefit from heritage work on a social level, as the TH Wellness Department uses traditional approaches to help their citizens, offering programs for people of all ages aimed at empowerment and healthy living. As health and wellness are an important part of spiritual empowerment, TH heritages sites such as Tr’ochëk have been used for many programs. Culturally, the TH Heritage Department is responsible for managing, protecting and presenting TH heritage resources. This includes land-based research, traditional knowledge protection, seasonal archaeology projects, documentation of oral histories, storage of heritage material, development of significant heritage sites, Hän language documentation and programming, the operation of the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre and the organization of the Moosehide Gathering. The department, thus, provides employment and works towards cultural revitalization. It is responsible for the conservation and documentation of cultural knowledge, language and artifacts, and the respect for and understanding of TH culture, which is communicated to schools and other parts of the community. In terms of community learning and education, the TH administer culture camps, Hän language programs, the Tr’inke Zho Childcare Centre, K-12 Education Programs, Scholarships and grants, the TH Teaching Farm and other training and educational opportunities. Here, the focus is developing skills, knowledge, selfesteem and community pride, thus fostering intergenerational connection and 87

To establish strong communication and ties with the municipality, it certainly helps that the last mayor of Dawson City, Wayne Potoroka, who was elected in 2012, is at the same time the TH Communications & Policy Director within the TH Administration Department. 88 There are two types of permits for using Settlement Land: Land Use Permits are issued for activities such as building a trail or a trapper’s cabin, and Timber Permits are issued for harvesting wood for personal and commercial use. TH citizens need to apply for a permit, issued by the Land and Resources Branch of the TH Natural Resources Department (TH 2016a).

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Fig. 6.16 Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in subdivision and greenhouse. (Photo by Susemihl)

knowledge sharing. Traditional knowledge is incorporated into all government departments, referring to the traditional way of doing things in everyday activities. An example would be the establishing of a smudging room in the hospital. The concept of Tr’ëhudè also refers to a TH ethical framework and a plan for living a good life that includes a moral and ethical core or set of acceptable actions and behaviours that allow people to live ‘in a good way’. It is an environment, or web, that allows people to flourish physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually (Beaumont n.d., 21).89 Cultural meetings such as the Moosehide Gathering and classes such as TH 101 help with giving non-Indigenous citizen a TH perspective. In terms of reconciliation, a cross-cultural understanding is necessary and mandatory courses have been established to educate the people of TH history and culture. Finally, in terms of spiritual development and community wellbeing many of the above-mentioned programs and initiatives connected to heritage can be listed, including Hän language programs, culture camps, the site of Tr’ochëk and the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre. For the people, their relationship with the land and self-identification through traditional culture help with spiritual wellbeing. Today,

89

Nelson (1983) discusses a similar code of ethics that governs all interactions of the Koyukon people in Alaska.

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the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in are re-learning their traditional songs and dances and have been reclaiming their culture on all levels.

6.8.2

Heritage and Self-Government of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in

The story of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in is one of a people adapting to a changing world; it is the story of a people looking to the future while honouring the past by preserving and learning from the knowledge of the Elders. The TH First Nation was one of the Yukon First Nations most affected by the influx of White gold miners and settlers in their territory and, as a result, they have been actively working on reclaiming their traditional cultural ways. Following decades of work by visionary leaders, the Yukon land claim and self-government agreements are creating opportunities for future generations. The agreements are the foundation for lasting relationships between Yukon societies, cultures and governments. Achieving self-government, however, has been a long and difficult path, and proving land claims in court is difficult, as Joseph-Rear states: “In order to prove your land claim you have to show that you are using the land as your ancestors have. But cultures have changed; the way people use the land is not the same” (Pers. comm. with Angie Joseph-Rear 2018). Today, the TH are trying to achieve an interdependent and united self-governing First Nation by re-establishing their traditional culture. Along with ten other Yukon First Nations, they have been given a level of power that the federal government has not given other First Nations since. The agreements can be seen as modern-day treaties with the Yukon Government and the Government of Canada, through which everyone has rights and responsibilities, and “Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in has just as much rights and responsibilities as the two other players at the table” (Interview with Bolt 2018). By committing to work together to provide training, education and employment, the TH are building a strong, healthy and stable future. These agreements not only influence the life of the TH, though, but they are “mapping the way” to a better future for all Yukoners. The contemporary “Mapping the Way” publicity campaign90 about the implementation of the Yukon First Nations’ agreements suggests “Yukoners are accepting a broader and more inclusive set of cultural narratives and recognizing Indigenous knowledges to guide them into the future” (Neufeld 2018, 132–133).

The initiative “Mapping the Way” (https://mappingtheway.ca) is a partnership between the 11 Self-Governing Yukon First Nations, the Council of Yukon First Nations, and the governments of Yukon and Canada who work together to implement land claims and self-government in Yukon; the film Mapping the Way: Yukon First Nation Self-Government (2013, dir. Brendan Preston, 4 min.) is a campaign video explaining self-government. 90

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While there remain serious difficulties in understanding the implications of the agreement, there are mechanisms that all partners continue the conversation, and Indigenous and non-Indigenous people have to work their way through the difficulties (Neufeld 2018, 132). The idea of self-government is, therefore, improving, and the people growing up within this new system are taking it for granted, as Glenda Bolt asserts: I am happy to say that I have staff working here who have never worked for anyone but their own Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in government. They were never a part of the Dawson Indian Band; they have only known self-government in their entire life. So, when I say, those Department of Indian and Northern Affair houses, they don’t know what I’m talking about. That’s history, and it’s just twenty years ago. [. . .] Their vision and biases are different, and their ways of explaining things are different, because they have never lived under that other system. That’s awesome; you’re getting a youth perspective of what’s going on. They are the beneficiaries; that’s cool; and it’s only going to get cooler (Interview with Bolt 2018).

Today, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in are a nation within a nation, and Dawson City is a highly integrated community in which people “live together, go to school together, do art and culture together” (Interview with Bolt 2018). A few decades ago, this was different. As late as in the 1960s and 1970s, there was much anger and discrimination in the community. Overcoming social and health problems such as a high level of alcohol and drug addiction took many decades. Even today there is still racial tension in the community, and many Indigenous people are struggling and are “mentally or emotionally [. . .] not ready to be working, or they are dealing with other stuff; we have citizens who struggle to a degree that they are just making it through the next day” (Interview with Beaumont 2018). For that reason, it is important to memorize, talk and keep alive the story and history, and not fall into a “memory trap”, as Beaumont claims: “It’s easy and alarming how quickly we forget things” (ibid.). First Nations history is still absent in history classes, she argues, and textbooks have not changed much; in fact, Indigenous history is still very much an “edited story” that presents “Indians related to the fur trade” complains Beaumont: “It’s a mistake that colonialism is something of the past; those things are still happening today and we are hoping to get beyond residential school remarks. It takes generations of healing. It took 200 years to get into this mess; it’ll take 200 years to get out of it” (Interview with Beaumont 2018). The signing of the agreements and Elders sharing residential school experiences are first steps on this way to reconciliation. The most important resource in this process of healing is the land and TH heritage. Following the establishment of self-government in the 1998 Final Agreement, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have made “a significant commitment to their cultural heritage” (Neufeld 2004, 3), having declared the revival of their cultural heritage a priority. Through direct citizen participation they have achieved many successes, among others the enhancement of their community’s health through the instillation of knowledge and pride in their cultural identity, with ongoing community-based oral history and archaeological research in TH traditional territory, in which Elders have passed on traditional stories, memories of traditional camps and traditional activities on the land to inform youth, remind and inspire citizens, and guide their

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politicians. Furthermore, they established a heritage-protected area system, achieved the recognition of their traditional camp at Tr’ochëk as a National Historic Site, built and opened a cultural centre with educational programming, established language and cultural programs that encourage community members to re-learn their mother tongue and traditional hunting techniques, set up archives and committed resources to an extensive archaeology program (ibid.). Moreover, staffing of the TH Heritage office has expanded from a single co-ordinator in 1998 to include eleven full-time staff devoted to culture and heritage matters. In the Klondike, two cultures – the TH and the non-Indigenous mining culture – have equal roles in the determination of who owns this place, its past, present and future. For that reason, Canada’s agreements with Yukon First Nations describe a pluralistic approach to decision-making. Governance, thus, needs to respond sensitively and appropriately to cultural pluralism if the ideals of these cultures are to be fulfilled. According to Neufeld (2018, 132), the “relationship performances between the two cultures [. . .] seeks to ensure the recognition of and respect for the decisionmaking mechanisms of both cultures.” While present legal challenges specify the insecurity amongst people about how this recognition and respect for both democratic leadership and community consensus can be implemented, Neufeld asserts: Yukon First Nations continue to forward their interests through interventions – humorous, forceful, oral, literary, legal, and diplomatic – using both their own knowledge and by selectively, and carefully [. . .], referencing the morality of the Western cultural narrative and drawing upon its tools to re-enforce their position. There is some progress in the practical acknowledgement of cultural pluralism (ibid.).

Notwithstanding the uncertainties among people and decision makers, all communications concerning decision-making take place between cultural narratives, and the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have been a strong and confident dialogue partner in these conversations.

6.8.3

Towards an Inscription of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike as a World Heritage Site

Three years after withdrawing the bid to become a World Heritage site, Canada resubmitted the Tr’ondëk-Klondike nomination for consideration, this time with a shifted focus from mining and the Klondike Gold Rush to the experience of colonialism by First Nations. The newly proposed property is comprised of areas that are TH settlement lands or are already being managed as heritage sites. It does not include any areas with active mining claims, because that was a point of contention. While some local placer miners worried that their livelihoods would be affected, ICOMOS was concerned about active mining on a protected property and had “trouble understanding” the proposed site, as TH heritage officer Lee Whalen states: “UNESCO World Heritage had concerns about [. . .] how [to] manage change within an active industrial landscape” (Whalen, quoted in Tukker 2021, n.p.).

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Instead, the new application aims to present the Klondike region as a unique case study in colonialism and its lasting impact on Indigenous communities forced to respond and adapt. The newly proposed Tr’ondëk-Klondike site is comprised of eight distinct TH sites: Tr’ochëk, Dawson City, Fort Reliance, Forty Mile, Dënezhu Graveyard, Fort Cudahy and Fort Constantine, Moosehide Village and Black City (Tukker 2021). The revised nomination, with its increased focus on the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, according to TH Heritage director Debbie Nagano, “underscores Tr’ondëk-Klondike’s unique ability to tell the greater story of colonization and its impacts, as well as the resilience of Indigenous peoples” (Nagano, quoted in Ritchie 2021, n.p.). During the whole process, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in took on the responsibility to lead the community consultation for the nomination, preparing the documents and telling a holistic, inclusive, culturally pluralistic story of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike that focused on the TH subsistence salmon fishery and the newcomer’s globalized placer gold mining. The nomination process, however, was just one element of the ongoing conversation that started over a century ago with Chief Isaac and continues in the present, in which the distinctive Indigenous cultural knowledge has retained its character and content. The nomination of 2017 especially gives an account of the area’s history and development, from its First Peoples and their life on the land, the Klondike Gold Rush and its immediate impact, the evolution of mining and the mining landscape following the gold rush, and the changing fortunes of Dawson City to the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and their path to self-determination and the Tr’ondëk-Klondike as it is today (TK Nom 2017, 46–97). Overall, the fundamentally different relationships with the land for the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and newcomer populations continue to shape this cultural landscape. Today, traditional Indigenous culture and values coexist with active placer mining in an area that has long been associated with a frontier meeting place of Indigenous peoples and newcomers in search of land and resources. This context and the enormous impact of the gold rush and its aftermath are legible in the material heritage of the landscape; they are also evocatively portrayed in a rich body of literature and photography and narrated in the stories of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in. The process of nomination and articulating the Outstanding Universal Value, however, was difficult, and in the beginning, “there was a great deal of ambiguity and wide-ranging thinking of what could form a more Dawson-centric, a more specifically Klondike statement of outstanding universal value for UNESCO inscription” (Interview with Somerville 2018). However, people “worked very hard to get the nomination the people of the town wanted,” focusing on the points that are important for them, as Somerville states: “At one point it could have been about paleontology, but it’s not” (ibid.). Instead, it is a holistic approach, not simply focussing on anthropological or archaeological aspects of the site as, for instance, the nomination of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump did. Moreover, Neufeld calls the 2017 nomination “a useful mechanism to change the narrative,” which did “an awful lot of great things” as it put two cultures side by side (Pers. comm. with David Neufeld 2018). For the TH the process of preparing that nomination was also important, as it drew their history, values and uses of heritage into the general

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picture, as Bolt states: “It has been an exhausting hundred years for the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, constantly having to reframe everything for people. I believe with the World Heritage designation that framework would be there and from then on it’s going to be level plain” (Interview with Bolt 2018); indeed, the nomination and designation would put the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in “back in history books”, as Bold stresses: If Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in was successful, the history books could never go back to the way they told the story; they will always have to include the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, they will always have to tell a balanced perspective, and they will be forced into that because of the World Heritage designation. [. . .] The guiding principle of the World Heritage designation is that no longer can we have this one colonialist approach to understanding what happened here, and for me that was really important (ibid.).

Two aspects, however, besides the proposed boundaries, have been problematic for ICOMOS representatives and resulted in Canada’s withdrawal of the nomination in 2018: the representation of TH culture and mining activities within the property. The incorporation of active mining within the boundaries of an evolving, continuing landscape is indeed a novelty and a stretch for UNESCO’s definition of an ‘organically evolved landscape’ as one that “results from an initial social, economic, administrative, and/or religious imperative and has developed its present form by association with and in response to its natural environment” and that “reflects that process of evolution in their form and component features” (UNESCO 2019a, b, 83). Representing a subcategory of this landscape type, a ‘continuing landscape’ is defined by UNESCO as “one which retains an active social role in contemporary society closely associated with the traditional way of life, and in which the evolutionary process is still in progress. At the same time it exhibits significant material evidence of its evolution over time” (ibid.). The landscape of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike fits this definition adequately, representing an evolving, continuing landscape of a persistent Indigenous culture and the traditions of a placer gold mining industry that exist alongside each other without one replacing or displacing the other. Furthermore, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in must adhere to their notion of traditional ways of connecting to land and heritage, as pronounced in the TH Heritage Act. Nadasdy (2003) has shown that Indigenous people in negotiations with non-Indigenous governments often have to adopt the ways of the White bureaucrats, undermining their traditional ways, which is not helpful in reversing centuries of inequity. Showing, for example, that human-animal relations is a concept that stands in conflict with Euro-Canadian notions of ‘property’ and ‘knowledge’, he argues that Indigenous peoples’ participation in land claim negotiations and co-management have, in some contexts, forced them to adopt Euro-Canadian perspectives toward the land and animals. They have, thus, been forced to develop bureaucratic infrastructures for interacting with the state, learning to speak and act in non-Indigenous ways. As a result, these processes necessarily end up with an acceptance of – and so helping to reproduce – existing power relations. In that respect, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in need not humbly accept UNESCO’s concepts of heritage that form the conceptual basis of World Heritage designation. The new nomination presents the Indigenous ‘content’ differently and active mining was excluded. In any case, for the

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Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and the non-Indigenous locals of Dawson City the process has been empowering and supported their community development. In the community of Dawson City, Indigenous and non-Indigenous people work together on building their future, and while different views and perspectives on Indigenous heritage may collide, the new nomination stays true to TH traditional knowledge, ideas and uses of heritage.

Bibliography Interviews and Personal Communication Beaumont, Jody, Traditional Knowledge Specialist, Heritage Department, Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Government, Dawson City, 09 Aug 2018 Bolt, Glenda, Manager and Curator, Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre, Dawson City, 07 Aug 2018 Hogan, Barbara, Manager, Historic Sites, Government of Yukon, Whitehorse, 02 Aug 2018 Joseph-Rear, Angie, Elder, Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, Dawson City, 07/08 Aug 2018 Reinmuth, Dieter, Owner and Manager, Dawson City River Hostel, 04/05 August 2018 Roberts, Vicki, Officer, Mining Administration, Government of Yukon, Energy, Mines and Resources, Minerals Management Branch, Dawson City, 09 Aug 2018 Shore, Molly, World Heritage Project Manager, Dawson City, 09 Aug 2018 Somerville, Alex, Executive Director, Dawson City Museum, Dawson City, 09 Aug 2018 Taylor, Sammy, Heritage Interpreter, Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre, Dawson City, 07 Aug 2018

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Jarvenpa, Rovert. 1994. “Commoditization versus Cultural Integration: Tourism and Image Building in the Klondike,” Arctic Anthropology, 31(1), 26–46. Joannou, Ashley. 2018. “Canada Withdraws Klondike World Heritage Site Bid,” Yukon News, 18 May, https://www.yukon-news.com/news/canada-withdraws-klondike-world-heritage-sitebid/ [accessed 14 Jan 2021]. Joseph, Roberta. 2011. Trondek Hwech’in First Fish Final Report. Dawson City: Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage Department. Joseph, Roberta. 2014. Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Fish CRE-7-14 Final Report. Dawson City: Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage Department Kawaja, Cheryl. 2016. “In 1st of its Kind, Yukon First Nation Proclaims its Own Heritage Act,” CBC News, 02 September, https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/north/yukon-first-nations-heritagelegislation-1.3746554 [accessed 20 Mar 2019]. King, Thomas (ed.). 1990. All My Relations: An Anthology of Contemporary Canadian Native Prose. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart. kobayashi + zedda. 2021. “Dänoja Zho Cultural Centre Dawson City, Yukon,” https://kza.yk.ca/ project/danoja-zho-cultural-centre/ [accessed 08 Jan 2021]. Kroetsch, Robert. 1998. The Man from the Creeks. Toronto: Random House of Canada. Kyle Van Every. 2018. Exhibition “Twenty Years of Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre” at the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre, Dawson City. London, Jack. 1997 [1906]. White Fang. Public Domain Book. London, Jack. 2001 [1903]. The Call of the Wild. New York: Scholastic. Lynch, Jeremiah. [1904] 2016. Three Years in the Klondike. London: E. Arnold. Mayer, Melanie J. 1989. Klondike Women: True Tales of the 1897–1898 Gold Rush. Athens: Swallow Press. McLeod, Georgette. 2014. Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Trapper Final Report. Dawson City: Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage Department. McPhee, John. 1976. Coming into the Country. New York: Farrat, Strauss, and Giroux. Michener, James A. 1988. Journey. New York: Dial Press. Michelle Olson. 2018. Exhibition “Twenty Years of Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre” at the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre, Dawson City. Mishler, Craig and William E. Semione. 2004. Han: People of the River. Hän Hwëch’in: An Ethnography and Ethnohistory. Fairbanks: University of Alaska Press. Mole, Rich. 2006. Gold Fever: Incredible Tales of the Klondike Gold Rush. Victoria: Heritage House. Morrison, William R. 1998. True North: The Yukon and Northwest Territories. Don Mills; ON: Oxford University Press. Nadasdy, Paul. 2003. Hunters and Bureaucrats: Power, Knowledge, and Aboriginal-State Relations in the Southwest Yukon. Vancouver: UBS Press. Nelson, Richard K. 1983. Make Prayers to the Raven: A Koyukon View of the Northern Forest. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Neufeld, David. 1999. Tr’o-ju Wech’in Heritage Site: Report on Research and Management Planning Activities 1998–1999. Whitehorse: Parks Canada. Neufeld, David. 2004. “Nomination of the Government of Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in for the Robert Kelly Memorial Award of the National Council on Public History,” personal copy of the author. Neufeld, David. 2016. “Our Land is Our Voice: First Nation Heritage-Making in the Tr’ondëk/ Klondike,” International Journal of Heritage Studies, 22(7), 568–581. Neufeld, David. 2018. “A Cultural Cartography of the Tr’ondëk-Klondike: Mapping Plural Knowledges,” Zeitschrift für Kanada-Studien, 67, 111–135. Neufeld, David, and Patrick Habiluk. 1994. Make It Pay! Gold Dredge # 4. Klondike, Yukon, Canada. Whitehorse: PR Distributing. Norris, Luther. 1947. Sourdough Tales. Prairie City: James A Decker Press. NPS (National Parks Service). 2019. Klondike Gold Rush, https://www.nps.gov/klgo/learn/ goldrush.htm [accessed 15 Jan 2021].

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Nuttal, Mark. 1998. Protecting the Arctic: Indigenous Peoples and Cultural Survival. Amsterdam: Harwood Academic Publishers. Omniglot. 2021. “Hän (Häł gołan),” http://www.omniglot.com/writing/han.htm [accessed 10 Jan 2021] Osgood, Cornelius. 1971. The Han Indians: A Compilation of Ethnographic and Historical Data on the Alaska-Yukon Boundary Area. New Haven: Yale University. PC (Parks Canada). 2016. Updating Canada’s Tentative List for World Heritage Sites Information Document. Ottawa: Parks Canada. PC (Parks Canada). 2018c. Klondike National Historic Sites 2018 Programs. Dawson City: Parks Canada. PCMB (Porcupine Caribou Management Board). 2018. “Porcupine Caribou Herd Reaches Record Size,” Whitehorse: PCMB. Pike, Warburton. 1896. Through the Subarctic Forest: A Record of a Canoe Journey from Fort Wrangel to the Pelly Lakes and Down the Yukon River to the Behring Sea. London: E. Arnold. Price, Julius M. 1898. From Euston to Klondike: The Narrative of a Journey through British Columbia and the North-West Territory in the Summer of 1898. London: S. Low. Procter, Hazel T. 1975. Tenderfoot to Sourdough: The True Adventures of Amos Entheus Ball in the Klondike Gold Rush as Told in His Own Words. New Holland: Edward Procter. Ritchie, Haley. 2021. “New Proposal Submitted to Make Tr’ondëk-Klondike Region a World Heritage Site,” Yukon News, 29 May, https://www.yukon-news.com/news/new-proposalsubmitted-to-make-trondek-klondike-region-a-world-heritage-site/ [accessed 21 Sept 2021]. Robertson, Patricia. 2012. “Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Work to Reclaim Their Native Language,” Yukon News, 14 December, https://www.yukon-news.com/life/trondek-hwechin-work-to-reclaimtheir-native-language/ [accessed 20 Jan 2021]. Robinson, Sally. 2016. “Appendix I – Key Published Works Related to the Nominated Property,” in: Tr’ondëk-Klondike World Heritage Site Stewardship Board, 2017, Tr’ondëkKlondike Nomination for Inscription UNESCO World Heritage List. Dawson City: Tr’ondëkKlondike World Heritage Site Stewardship Board. Roper, Edward. 1899. A Claim on Klondyke: A Romance of the Arctic El Dorado. London: W. Blackwood and Sons. Rössler, Mechtild. 2012. “Partners in Site Management. A Shift in Focus: Heritage and Community Involvement,” in: Marie-Theres Albert, Marielle Richon, Marie José Viñals, and Andrea Witcomb (eds.), Community Development through World Heritage. Paris: UNESCO, 27–31. Rudyk, Mike. 2018. “Yukon First Nation Rebuilds Heritage through Biennial Moosehide Gatherings,” CBC News, 30 July, https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/north/moosehide-gatheringtrondek-hwechin-han-1.4767676 [accessed 08 Jan 2021]. Sights and Sites of the Yukon. 2018. “Dawson City – 9th Avenue Trail”, Whitehorse: Government of Yukon. Smith, C.A. Scott, John C. Meikle and Charlie F. Roots (eds.). 2004. Ecoregions of the Yukon Territory: Biophysical Properties of Yukon Landscapes. Summerland: Agriculture Canada. Spurr, Josiah Edward. 1900. Through the Yukon Gold Diggings: A Narrative of Personal Travel. Boston: Eastern Publishing Co. Stern, Pamela. 2004. “Han: People of the River. Craig Mishler and William E. Simeone. 2004. Fairbanks: University of Alaska Press” (book review), Polar Record, 40(4), 365–366. TH (Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in). 2011a. Forty Mile Ch’ëdä Dëk. Dawson City: TH Government. TH (Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in). 2011b. Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Best Practice for Heritage Resources. Dawson City: TH Heritage Department. TH (Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in). 2012. First Fish Camp 2012: Information and Registration, http://www. trondek.ca/downloads/firstfish2012.pdf [accessed 07 Jan 2021]. TH (Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in). 2013. Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage Department Update, October. TH (Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in). 2016a. Permits: Information Guide for Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Citizens 2016. Dawson City: TH Land & Resources Branch and TH Communications.

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TH (Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in). 2016b. Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage Act. Dawson City: Council of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in. TH (Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in). 2018. Këntra Täy Moccasin Trail Newsletter, 2018. TH (Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in). 2021. Black City: First Hunt, http://trondekheritage.com/our-places/ black-city/what-makes-black-city-special/caribou/first-hunt/ [accessed 07 Jan 2021]. TH (Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in). n.d. Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Interpretive Manual: Chief Isaac. Dawson City: TH Heritage Department. TK Nom (Tr’ondëk-Klondike World Heritage Site Stewardship Board). 2017. Tr’ondëk-Klondike Nomination for Inscription UNESCO World Heritage List. Dawson City: Tr’ondëk-Klondike World Heritage Site Stewardship Board. TKWH (Tr’ondëk-Klondike World Heritage Site Project Management Committee). 2018. Tr’ondëk-Klondike World Heritage Site Nomination, http://tkwhstatus.ca [accessed 08 Mar 2019]. – This site was removed from the internet in July 2019 and launched again in 2021; most of the 2018 content, however, was deleted in 2019. TKWH SB (Tr’ondëk-Klondike World Heritage Site Stewardship Board. 2017. Tr’ondëk-Klondike World Heritage Site Management Plan Revised Draft. Dawson City: Tr’ondëk-Klondike World Heritage Site Stewardship Board. Tok Air Service. 2021. “Self-Guided Caribou Hunts,” http://www.tokairservice.com/alaska-selfguided-hunts/caribou-hunts/40-mile-caribou-hunt [accessed 15 Jan 2021]. Tollemache, Stratford. 1912. Reminiscences of the Yukon. Toronto: W. Briggs. Tukker, Paul. 2021. “Yukon UNESCO World Heritage Bid Shifts Focus from Gold Rush to Colonialism,” CBC News, 25 May, https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/north/unesco-worldheritage-trondek-hwechin-1.6039995 [accessed 21 Sept 2021]. Tyrell, Edith. 1938. I Was There. Toronto: Ryerson Press. Tyrrell, Joseph B. 1910. “Rock Glaciers or Chrystocrenes,” Journal of Geology, 18, 549–553. UNESCO. 2015. Operational Guidelines for the Implementation of the World Heritage Convention. Paris: World Heritage Centre. UNESCO. 2019a. Operational Guidelines for the Implementation of the World Heritage Convention. Paris: World Heritage Centre. UNESCO. 2019b. UNESCO Policy on Engaging with Indigenous Peoples. Paris: UNESCO. Webb, John Sidney. 1898. “The River Trip to the Klondike,” The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine, 55(5), March, 672–691. Wells, E. Hazard (and Randall M. Dodd, ed.). 1984. Magnificence and Misery: A Firsthand Account of the 1897 Klondike Gold Rush. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Wenger, Jason and Tricia Brown. 2021. “The Han Athabascans”, LitSite Alaska, Anchorage: University of Alaska. Wiebe, Rudy. 1984. The Mad Trapper. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart. Wiedemann, Thomas. 1942. Cheechako Into Sourdough. Portland: Binfords and Mort Publishers. YFN (Yukon First Nation). 2018. Guide to Heritage Stewardship for Yukon First Nation Governments. Whitehorse: Yukon First Nation Heritage. YFNCT (Yukon First Nation Culture & Tourism Association). 2018. “Welcome Guide Now Available,” http://yfnct.ca/news/2018-05-25-welcome-guide-now-available [accessed 27 Jan 2021]. YFNSG (Yukon First Nation Self-Government). 2016. “Our Agreements”, https://mappingtheway. ca/our-agreements [accessed 10 Jan 2021]. YG (Yukon Government). 2009. Quartz Mining Act Guidelines for Claim Staking. Whitehorse: Yukon Government, Department for Energy, Mines and Resources. YG (Yukon Government). 2016. 2016 Community Visitor Survey: Dawson. Dawson City: Government of Yukon, Department of Tourism and Culture. YG (Yukon Government). 2017. Tourism Yukon 2017 Year-End Report, Whitehorse: Government of Yukon, Department of Tourism and Culture. YG (Yukon Government). 2018a. The Last Great Road Trip 2018. Whitehorse: Yukon Government.

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YG (Yukon Government). 2018b. Yukon 2018 Vacation Planner. Whitehorse: Yukon Tourism and Culture, Government of Yukon. YG (Yukon Government). 2019. Guidelines for Placer Claim Staking in Yukon: Placer Mining Act. Whitehorse: Yukon Government, Dept. of Energy, Mines and Resources. YNLC (Yukon Native Language Centre). 2020. Hän, http://ynlc.ca/han.shtml [accessed 10 Jan 2021].

Chapter 7

Conclusion: Where to from Here?

Are these things of the past/Being displayed and interpreted/ In ways that would make any sense/To those who created and used them? Is that possible at all? [. . .] How can members of colonial society/Legitimately own or understand our past? I still like to see/Things from the past/To better understand/ The lives of those who lived it/But I can no longer gaze/ Untroubled by the issues of/Appropriation/ Misrepresentation/And imperialism Heather Harris (Cree-Métis) (Heather Harris, from the poem Keepers of the Indigenous Past, in Smith and Wobst 2005, 107–109.)

Abstract The concluding chapter discusses the different stages of participation and empowerment of the three heritage sites presented in the book and the Indigenization of UNESCO’s World Heritage Program. It examines different perceptions of Indigenous heritage and ways of preserving the past, and considers the concept of adopting an Indigenous Cultural Landscape approach for all undertakings and initiatives of the World Heritage program – a step that serves to strengthen community capacity in numerous ways, improves long-term relationships among agencies and communities, and, ultimately, helps to better preserve and protect shared resources and landscapes. Keywords Indigenous participation · Indigenous empowerment · Indigenous cultural landscape approach

This book started with the questions of how we can liberate ourselves from colonial perceptions of Indigenous heritage and free the UNESCO World Heritage concept from an ‘authorized’ view of heritage that constrains definitions and uses of heritage and postulate alternative views instead. I made the argument that a change of heritage concepts and ‘liberation’ from the ‘authorized heritage discourse’ is only possible with the ‘liberation’ of the Indigenous people, which requires Indigenous self-determination and an ‘unauthorized’ understanding of heritage that includes © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 G. Susemihl, Claiming Back Their Heritage, Heritage Studies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-40063-6_7

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Indigenous ideas and uses of heritage. This book also started in the Klondike, at a time when the nomination for the World Heritage site of Tr’ondëk-Klondike was withdrawn by the Government of Canada due to ICOMOS’ reservations concerning the nomination. Discussing this case and two other Indigenous World Heritage sites in Canada, I set out to understand the discrepancies between UNESCO’s ideas of World Heritage and Indigenous concepts and uses of heritage. I am not claiming to offer a complete analysis of both concepts; indeed, much more research is needed to explore the myriad ways of Indigenous perceptions of heritage and its role in the process of Indigenous community development. However, what I hope to have achieved with this analysis is a deeper insight and understanding for the nature and power of heritage in Western and Indigenous contexts. The concept of World Heritage is a complex phenomenon that comprises different ideas, discourses, strategies and processes of representation and preservation as well as issues of tourism and landscape. To understand this complexity, after discussing ideas, discourses and uses of heritage and examining concepts of community empowerment and development as well as Indigenous participation in management and preservation processes, three case studies helped demonstrate how Indigenous people use World Heritage. Analyzing different aspects such as management and ownership of sites, tourism and Indigenous community development, the cases provide a notion of how much influence the concept has on local, national and international levels, as different perceptions and uses of heritage lead to different preservation and management practices. The book has argued that heritage projects and local stewardship of heritage have the capacity to empower Indigenous communities to sustain their heritage and identity and provide useful places for social and material advancement (Stephens and Tiwari 2015, 99). The discussion of the three sites that are part of Indigenous heritage draws attention to the right of groups to manage their own culture. Heritage is important for the social and cultural strength of Indigenous communities, and the loss of cultural heritage is linked to a loss of identity. The study confirms that only where Indigenous communities become stakeholders and decision-makers who are encouraged and facilitated in the realisation of their right to cultural heritage, it helps to stimulate growth and build capacity for the Indigenous community. World Heritage sites connected to Indigenous heritage have to be managed and interpreted by Indigenous people whose heritage is represented at those sites. This is only possible if Indigenous people are the owners of the sites or meaningful collaboration between different stakeholders in terms of management is implemented.

7.1

The Three Case Studies: Stages of Participation and Empowerment

In the study, three World Heritage sites have been explored that address Indigenous history and culture. The nominations for two of the sites – Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump (1981) and SGang Gwaay (1981) – were originally based upon Western

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archaeology and settler society’s romanticization of the disappearance of Indigenous peoples. Neither nomination included significant input from contemporary First Nations communities; in fact, both nominations explicitly noted the absence of Indigenous peoples in the present (Neufeld 2018, 113).1 During the nomination process of Tr’ondëk-Klondike, however, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Nation did not only function as stakeholders, but they had been leading the process. These different nomination processes must be evaluated within the context of time. Significant changes over the past decades to both the UNESCO World Heritage site nomination criteria and the Canadian national commemoration programs address some of this culturally-rooted imbalance.2 Furthermore, national and regional political developments regarding Indigenous communities have established different heritage management scenarios. In that respect, the three case studies can be seen as three different ‘stages’ on a way to self-determination over Indigenous heritage, in the development of Indigenous participation and of changed non-Indigenous perceptions on World Heritage. The World Heritage sites of Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, SGang Gwaay and Gwaii Haanas as well as Tr’ondëk-Klondike are unique places for the local Indigenous communities and for national and international tourists. Visitor numbers at the three sites, however, differ due to their location and environmental restrictions. While HSIBJ is a popular tourist attraction along the Cowboy Trail of southern Alberta, visited by thousands of people each year, and Tr’ondëk-Klondike is a popular tourist destination connected to the Klondike Gold Rush, SGang Gwaay is a remotely located village, challenged by access, funding and the decay of the remaining totem poles. The sites also differ in terms of ownership, management and funding. Nevertheless, they all serve as ‘means’ for Indigenous empowerment and community development. Having developed within different political contexts, though, Indigenous community involvement differs at the three sites. The situation of the Blackfoot is an unresolved political conflict and a legacy of colonialism. While there were no treaties negotiated in British Columbia and Yukon, in southern Alberta the land was ceded through Treaties No. 6 and 7, and the treaty Indians involved have a different bargaining position than non-treaty Indians today.3 The Blackfoot have, therefore, no legal title to the land of their ancestors and to the site itself. Since the Blackfoot do not own the land and have no authorized voice in the management, there is also no real co-management of HSIBJ. The site’s attraction, however, depends significantly on Blackfoot presence and participation in the operation of the site. This involvement is not based on formal agreements, as is the ICOMOS states in its evaluation reports that HSIBJ “is directly and materially associated with the survival of the human race during the pre-historic period” (ICOMOS 1981b)” and the “abandonned [sic] village of Ninstints on Anthony Island bears a unique testimony to the vanished civilization of the Haida Indians” (ICOMOS 1981a). 2 International changes are summarized in Harrison (2010) and national changes are noted in Neufeld (2008). 3 Treaty 6 was signed at Fort Carlton and Fort Pitt in 1876; Treaty 7 was signed at Blackfoot Crossing in 1877. 1

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case with Gwaii Haanas, but depends on the commitment of individuals. Without official co-operation, however, there is no general employment policy for the Blackfoot and there are no revenues that go to the Indigenous community. Moreover, improvements in Indigenous employment and education through heritage seem to exist on an individual basis only. While Blackfoot working as guides, dancers or sales personnel at HSIBJ identify with the site, there is little identification with the World Heritage site among other community members. The situation of the Haida is different. Since they never signed any historical treaties, they have never given away title to their land, and even though there is disagreement as to ownership of the land, both governments decided to manage the natural and cultural resources in agreement. These accords give the Haida strength and influence, and they established a locally controlled, interest-bearing fund to advance economic diversification and sustainable development in their homeland. The co-management also allows the identification of existing problems and solves them through a series of actions, involving the Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities in the decision-making process. It also permits better living conditions, employment and education for the local Indigenous population. Gwaii Haanas, thus, represents a successful partnership between different types of institutions that have the same objective, and when in the future further decisions concerning Haida Gwaii shall be made, co-management will most likely be considered a valuable and beneficial strategy by both sides. The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in signed an agreement in 1998 and are a self-governing First Nation. Nevertheless, they have “qualms about their lack of presence within the grand narrative of Canada presented at the Klondike region national historic sites,” as Neufeld (2018, 115) notes, and have little interest in being ‘tolerated’ and accommodated by the national government. Instead, they want to present their own cultural narrative, and, as Roddy Blackjack of the Carmacks/Little Salmon First Nation, states, Indigenous people and non-Indigenous settlers must become “two cultures side by side” (quoted in Graham 1997, 6). In that regard, the Yukon First Nation self-government treaties with Canada are premised upon a model of culturally pluralist governance, with “distinct cultural groupings constantly negotiating with each other on the basis of mutual recognition, respect for the continuity of group traditions with governance rising from mutual consent” (Neufeld 2018, 115). The Tr’ondëk-Hwëch’in have, thus, been presenting and preserving their own heritage with the help of different institutions. All three case studies demonstrate the importance and use of heritage by Indigenous people. Heritage has been a cornerstone for language programs, culture camps and many other community activities and serves as an important source of empowerment and capacity building. What is more, the actions outside the boundaries of the heritage site effect the site’s preservation while communities are partners and protagonists in the conservation process. Heritage is of immense historical, cultural and social importance, and its significance can be interpreted against the backdrop of socioeconomic, political, ethnic, religious and philosophical values of a particular group of people. Heritage sites associated with Indigenous cultures require attention to the relation between the respective Indigenous communities and the site itself, as

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heritage always comprises educational aspects. World Heritage sites connected to Indigenous heritage, therefore, represent not only Indigenous heritage, but they serve as keepers of stories of diverse cultures and peoples. Heritage, including archaeological and historical records, which are “part of the shared record of humanity” (Nicholas 2009, 203), can thus be understood as expressions of identity and sovereignty. While different groups and stakeholders attempt to gain or regain control over their own heritage, they express their tribal and communal identity, and their narratives influence the amount of information derived from it and the contents of the stories narrated by heritage. The formation of identity occurs within people’s culture and society, and authentic identity depends upon the continuity of both natural and cultural forms and processes (Bauman 2007; Hough 1990; Lynch 1972). One fundamental issue of empowerment is the question of meaning and the idea of constituting a meaningful life. For Indigenous people, in that respect, capacity building within their communities in the face of cultural disruption has been a continuous, challenging task for which heritage serves as a foundation (Creal 1999, 258). Indigenous heritage sites are part of a living culture. The ‘official’ levels of significance used in the assessment of non-Indigenous cultural heritage, however, do not easily translate to the assessment of Indigenous heritage (NSW 2001, 28). It is, therefore, important to utilize the Indigenous community’s understanding of heritage and ensure that they participate in the preservation of heritage sites. Participation, however, is a process that is more than making communities the beneficiaries of a tourism project. Jobs are an important benefit, but they do not replace empowerment. Communities must participate in the decision-making process, which involves more than consultation. Processes must be initiated to ensure that communities are able to manage their own growth and resources sensibly, project managers must identify local leaders, local organizations must get involved, key priorities of the community must be identified, and ideas, expectations and concerns of the local people must be considered (Notzke 2006, 186). Organizations in charge of a site’s preservation need to involve the Indigenous communities in this process. UNESCO meets this demand with its mission of encouraging the participation of the local population in heritage preservation, and its Policy on Engaging with Indigenous Peoples (2019) states that “Indigenous peoples must [. . .] be considered as stakeholders and rights-holders in social, human and cultural development” (UNESCO 2019, 23). The practical application of this objective, however, depends on the national and provincial governments. This has also consequences for the administration of World Heritage sites. There is a difference between the administrative approach and individual approaches, taking into account the single people working in the field. Most non-Indigenous people working within the administrative system of Indigenous World Heritage sites have been very engaged and see themselves as powerfully supporting the Indigenous communities. However, non-Indigenous administrators have to accept unbalanced power conditions and need to question their perception of World Heritage and Indigenous heritage. We have to carefully listen to the voices that are telling the

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stories on site and look at the pictures that are illustrating these stories and ask: Who is talking, and who is silent, and whose pictures are presented, and by whom? Gradually, Indigenous interests and values have been taken into consideration by site managers who “progressively have come to consider Indigenous communities as authorities of their own cultural heritage and have started to cooperate with them” (Vonk 2013, 3). This development reveals changing power relations between heritage sites and source communities, in which “both parties are held to be equal and which involves the sharing of skills, knowledge and power to produce something of value to both parties” (Peers and Brown 2003, 2). Sharing power, though, is neither simple nor conclusive, but a complex and unpredictable first step in building new relations between heritage sites and Indigenous communities. Indigenizing the World Heritage program serves as a top-down measure within this process of power sharing and Indigenous capacity building.

7.2

Indigenizing the World Heritage Program

It is UNESCO’s goal to create peace both locally and globally on the basis of humanity’s moral and intellectual solidarity, and a World Heritage designation is considered a step towards reaching that goal (Anderson and Thurley 2018; Di Giovine 2009).4 The World Heritage program serves UNESCO’s role of building bridges of understanding across disciplines and between native and newcomer, self and other, ‘us’ and ‘them’, researcher and community, and Indigenous and non-Indigenous people. The process of creating World Heritage sites seeks to encourage ways of thinking about how human communities might hold together or drift apart and of reworking differences into new alliances, because the power of heritage is strong (Chamberlin 2003). Many Indigenous peoples worldwide, who have been gaining strength and determination within the past decades, though, have difficulties with the system of World Heritage, seeing it as a tool of post-colonial powers. Indigenizing the World Heritage program involves Indigenous inclusion, reconciliation and decolonization,5 and policies and praxis need to reflect and demonstrate a way toward a more equal World Heritage program. Indeed, Holtorf and Bolin ask if it is time to start identifying and promoting a new kind of World Heritage “that is not employed to bolster national pride and generate financial benefits for a limited group” (2020, n.p.), but that “reaffirms the many 4

The announcement in 2017 that the United States plans to exit UNESCO in 2018 has been read by some as evidence that UNESCO’s productivity and value are incommensurate with its cost, and that it is an extremely politicised body. The United States and Israel left UNESCO in 2018 (Marwecki 2019). 5 Gaudry and Lorenz (2018) see Indigenization as a ‘three-part spectrum’, with ‘Indigenous inclusion’ on one end, ‘reconciliation Indigenization’ in the middle, and ‘decolonial Indigenization’ on the other end. For the origins of UNESCO’s Global Strategy for a representative, balanced and credible list, see Gfeller (2015).

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interconnections and common interests between all branches and specimen of humanity – and indeed between humans and other living beings on this planet” (ibid.). Consequently, the World Heritage system must evolve, not only adjusting to local and national politics, but rather initiating political changes. Protecting and promoting human rights, and in particular the rights of Indigenous peoples, is an obligation and responsibility of UNESCO and implicit in the organization’s expressed commitment to principles and values such as cultural diversity, sustainable development and good governance. Incorporating a human rights-based approach into all its programs and activities means in practice that “all activities should contribute to the realization of human rights” and that “human rights principles and standards should guide the programming process in all fields and all stages, including design, implementation, monitoring and evaluation”, as the UNESCO Strategy on Human Rights notes (quoted in Disko et al. 2014, 15). One of the most important instruments of UNESCO and one of the most comprehensive international statements of Indigenous rights and aspirations is the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP). It establishes a variety of collective rights, including the right to develop autonomous legal systems, to practice cultural traditions and to revitalize languages and oral traditions. Article 3 of UNDRIP (2007) affirms that “Indigenous peoples have the right to self-determination. By virtue of that right they freely determine their political status and freely pursue their economic, social and cultural development” (n.p.). In essence, the right to self-determination “provides Indigenous peoples with the right to control their own destiny and govern themselves [. . .] and embodies their right to live and develop as culturally distinct groups” (ILA 2010, 10). In the context of World Heritage, “a crucial element of the right to self-determination is the right of Indigenous peoples to manage, for their own benefit, their own natural resources” (Disko et al. 2014, 9), and the extinguishing of inherent Indigenous rights to lands and resources is incompatible with Indigenous peoples’ right to self-determination. Many World Heritage sites constitute home to or are located within land managed by Indigenous peoples, whose land use, knowledge and cultural and spiritual values and practices may depend on, shape or constitute part of the heritage. UNESCO acknowledges their rights and states that “in such places, Indigenous peoples have the right to their traditional lands, territories and resources, and are partners in site conservation and protection activities that recognize traditional management systems as part of new management approaches” (UNESCO 2019, 26). In practice, however, the cooperation depends on national guidelines and circumstances. Adopted by 144 states in 2007, Canada endorsed UNDRIP in 2010. In 2021, the Canadian government passed Bill C-15, which aligns Canada’s laws with the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. This legislation requires the Government of Canada, in consultation and cooperation with Indigenous peoples, to take all measures necessary to ensure the laws of Canada are consistent with the declaration and prepare and implement an action plan to achieve its objectives (GC 2021). Indigenous people of Canada, however, are split on whether they support the bill or reject it as just another tool to colonize their peoples under Canadian law. Valid concerns remain on both sides, according to Plains Cree activist

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André Bear (2021), especially for Treaty Indians who have treaties “with the Crown yet to be honoured”. While they “hold a distinct relationship with the Crown” that “allowed Canada to exist today,” Bear states that “Canada holds a legacy of ignoring Treaty agreements and imposing legislation that has left our nationhood fragmented” (Bear 2021, n.p.). A different view on World Heritage also includes questioning the role of UNESCO and international, national and local heritage registers and free them from an ‘authorized’ view of heritage that constrains definitions and uses of heritage. Eventually, the ‘authorized heritage discourse’ that underlies UNESCO’s guidelines needs to be changed. For Indigenous heritage sites, the UNESCO guidelines and discourses mean a restraint in the uses of heritage, as the case studies have shown. Indigenous perspectives, meanings and uses of heritage do not fit into the ‘authorized’ UNESCO heritage discourse. In terms of the procedure, the approach for evaluation of UNESCO and its advisory bodies ICOMOS and IUCN have to be revised. Their final evaluation determines what is significant and worth protecting at sites, which does not necessarily coincide with the values and ideas of the local communities and their interests concerning the uses and development of heritage. This includes economic possibilities regarding tourism and resources, in which Western and Indigenous approaches often collide. As the case of Tr’ondëk-Klondike demonstrates, the local communities at ‘rejected’ sites can either review their application and change their approach to heritage and its uses against their own understanding of heritage and resubmit, or do without the accolade of the title of World Heritage site. As long as advisory bodies and groups of ‘experts’ determine what is worth protecting in the heritage of somebody else, there will always be questions of prejudice and cultural appropriation. In fact, cultural appropriation is an issue that, according to Anishinaabe writer Ryan McMahon, is “paramount” to the Indigenous community today, especially concerning “the efforts around reconciliation” and “the importance of centering Indigenous voice” (McMahon, quoted in Tremonti 2017).6 Analyzing the appropriation of Indigenous culture in Canada and the legal remedies available to Indigenous peoples, Udy (2015) claims that the use of Canadian intellectual property laws as a tool for the protection of Indigenous cultural heritage against cultural appropriation leads to confusion and adverse consequences. This is because these laws were not developed to meet the aim of cultural heritage protection, but for economic purposes (Combee 2009). Udy states that “the challenges that postcolonial struggles pose for Canadian society cannot be met by our traditional reliance upon categories of thought interested from a colonial era. The conceptual tools of modernity are ill equipped to deal with the conditions of postmodernity in which we all now live” 6

The issue of cultural appropriation has been debated quite intensely. When in 2017 the author and cultural critic Hal Niedzviecki dismissed the notion of cultural appropriation and stated: “In my opinion, anyone, anywhere, should be encouraged to imagine other peoples, other cultures, other identities” (2017, 8), an outrage followed that resulted in his resigning from his position as the Editor-in-Chief of Write Magazine, but also prompted a heated conversation about cultural appropriation and the bounds of literary inspiration (Tremonti 2017).

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(2015, n.p.). New concepts of ownership and control over cultural heritage must be created to deal with and protect existing and emerging expressions of Indigenous cultural identity. According to Vine Deloria, Jr., what Indigenous people need “is a cultural leave-us-alone agreement, in spirit and in fact” (1988, 27). While most scholars aim for reconciliation, the argument is a reasonable one. There is consensus that existing intellectual property laws should be supplemented by legislation that addresses the specific needs of Indigenous groups and the characteristics of cultural heritage which differ from traditional intellectual property (Combee 2009; Udy 2015). The Government of Canada has committed itself to legislating the matter through many international instruments, such as UNDRIP. Moreover, it has a constitutional fiduciary obligation to Indigenous peoples which could imply an active duty to protect Indigenous culture. New laws should take into account lessons learned in the drafting of international instruments of UNESCO and other national laws in countries such as New Zealand, which aim to protect the cultural heritage of Indigenous peoples. If UNESCO and the settler societies truly want to move past the severe errors of its colonial history, they need to ensure that Indigenous peoples are involved as much as possible in all steps of the legislative and judicial processes, from drafting the laws to enforcing them (Udy 2015). In that respect, Indigenizing the World Heritage programs comprises a human rights approach and participation of the local Indigenous communities on all levels, but also a landscape approach, all of which have partly been introduced in the Operational Guidelines (2019).

7.3

Towards an Indigenous Cultural Landscape Approach

The category of ‘cultural landscape’ as outlined in the Operational Guidelines may help to integrate heritage, culture and society as well as national and local interests. However, the notions of the category are still largely grounded in the ‘authorized heritage discourse’ as they are usually defined by ‘experts’ and not by local stakeholders, linked to the idea of materiality, and not identified as an active process, but an object that was shaped in the past and is today engaged with passively. Indigenous communities need to have means to relate their interests and concepts of landscapes to UNESCO, federal agencies and other entities (Ball et al. 2017), using landscape7 as a unit of understanding. Adopting an Indigenous Cultural Landscape approach for all undertakings and initiatives of the World Heritage program serves to strengthen community capacity in numerous ways, improve long-term relationships among agencies and Indigenous communities, and ultimately help to better preserve and protect shared resources and landscapes.

7

The term encompasses areas with terrestrial, coastal, and offshore marine components, including related concepts such as seascapes and riverscapes.

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Indigenous people have a broad perception of what heritage means. To them heritage “is not something from the past, but a way of life reflected in the beliefs, values, knowledge, and practices passed from generation to generation” (TH 2011, 8). Heritage permeates all aspects of First Nation lives, communities and governance and includes much more than the material remains that are left behind. Heritage resources are understood as physical reminders of what is truly important. The Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Heritage Department uses the term ‘land-based heritage resources’ as an overarching classification for heritage resources in the traditional territory that warrant protection, preservation and management. These resources are areas of particular heritage interest or value stemming from the traditional, cultural or historic relationships to the land. These objects can be material or non-material in nature, and include the moveable heritage resources connected to, and in situ with, the non-moveable components. They include harvestable resources such as wildlife, fish and plants, and their habitats, migration routes, waterways, calving areas and traplines, medicines, raw materials such as bark, wood, stone, bone, fibres and dyes, place names, camps, trails and caches, burial and sacred sites, traditional knowledge, and archaeological and historic sites (TH 2011, 9). This list of heritage resources shows that Indigenous people do not draw clear lines between the ‘natural’ and ‘cultural’ resources of a place. With their intimate and historical knowledge of place, they hold a breadth and depth of understanding of the landscape to which they are connected that reflects generations of engagement and interaction with the landscape. Additionally, geographic, geologic and other history and knowledge may be held in oral tradition that has been guiding and shaping settlement locations for centuries. They have always known that “the interconnection between species ensures that management practices for particular resources influence the propagation and proliferation of other species” (Ball et al. 2017, 7). For that reason they need to be engaged from the very beginning to inform planning and future management of any World Heritage site connected to their heritage. Many federal agencies still have problems understanding this comprehensive concept, and, as a result, “may not adequately appreciate this holistic perspective, which can adversely impact their capacity to address the complex issues of land management and regulatory undertakings” (Ball et al. 2015, 4). Furthermore, places and cultural heritage resources can have “different or multiple meanings and levels of significance based on how people from different cultures, times, or backgrounds have interacted with the respective landscapes” (ibid.; also, MPA FAC 2011). An Indigenous or Tribal Cultural Landscape (ICL/TCL) approach recognizes that this information is valid and that it is held by tribal communities (Ball et al. 2017, 6), and the success of this process is defined by the participation of Indigenous groups. An Indigenous Cultural Landscape is defined by Beacham et al. as a “concept that depicts combined natural and cultural landscape features that together could have supported an Indigenous community in its entirety” and that “originated as a way to translate intuitive environmental knowledge into defined criteria for which evidencebased data can be gathered today” (2017, 343). Although the notion of a cultural landscape approach has been discussed for decades (e.g. Sauer 1925; Westerdahl 1992), “clear articulation of the process and pathways for implementation have been

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lacking,” Ball et al. (2015) argue, particularly regarding the inclusion of Indigenous communities, resources and places. The TCL approach outlined by Ball et al. (2015, 2017) may, thus, be used by Indigenous communities and other agencies to help recognize and record places and resources of cultural importance. They write about the process: It is intended to be transferable, and help tribes, agencies, and stakeholders to: 1. properly engage with tribal and Indigenous communities prior to the proposal of activities that may impact tribal resources and areas; 2. involve tribal and Indigenous communities in the identification of their own significant resources and areas of use; and 3. clarify tribal interests in specific planning areas (Ball et al. 2017, 7).

This method provides Indigenous contextualization in a meaningful manner early in project processes, limiting adverse impacts and reducing the need for mitigating measures. A holistic Indigenous cultural landscape approach integrates environmental science with historical, traditional and archaeological knowledge to provide a strong and cost-effective procedure to document places and resources of past and present significance to Indigenous communities. When this approach is implemented in the management and conservation practices of World Heritage, it will be more likely that heritage resources will be recognized for their different meanings and appropriately considered when decisions are made about federal actions of conservation and representation. Furthermore, natural and cultural resources must be integrated in the management of World Heritage sites, and multiple voices and perspectives need to be incorporated into procedures and practices. Management and preservation practices must be based on the understanding that humans are part of the landscape, both shaping and being shaped by it. Cultural heritage and resources need to be considered as part of the environment and the broader landscape, examining relationships among all the resources of a place and their environment over time. Past and living cultural voices associated with a landscape, therefore, need to be identified, helping to ensure a strong public engagement in planning and management (Ball et al. 2015; MPA FAC 2011). UNESCO’s idea of ‘evolving landscapes’ integrates this understanding. The ‘evolution’ of a cultural landscape, though, cannot only be seen as a chronology of events, as “it also reflects the evolution of ideas and ideologies” (Sandalack 2019, 179). Sandalack affirms: The values cultures place on the land are reflected in changing patterns of land ownership and development, and consequently in the spatial, visual and experiential qualities of the built environment. How one understands and interprets those landscape forms and processes depends upon one’s ideological position, and consequently influences the histories that are constructed. The approach to a museum and interpretive site is inevitably skewed towards the cultural orientation of those providing the funding, the administration and the design, despite the best intentions. The need to continually engage the various cultures who have a stake in the site, its interpretation and its management is another ongoing challenge (2019, 179).

The heritage sites discussed in this book are examples of ‘evolving landscapes’, and despite different challenges and contradictions, they are encouraging examples of

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places where people are brought into direct contact with cultural landscapes and have the opportunity to experience them in situ. Moreover, at Gwaii Haanas, the Haida have recognized the integrated cultural landscape with the Gwaii Haanas Gina ’Waadluxan KilGuhlGa Land-Sea-People Management Plan (2018), which acknowledges the interdependences of land, sea and people. An Indigenous Cultural Landscape approach is also important as it treats ‘landscape’ as something constructed.8 Binnema and Niemi9 argue that we “should reflect on how humans have attempted to modify the physical reality to conform to our notions of what wilderness and nature ought to be” (2006, 740). In the case of the establishing of national parks, for example, “those responsible for removing peoples from parks have often been highly trained people who assumed that their knowledge and oversight were far more valuable than that of local people whose knowledge – accumulated over many generations – and constant presence on the land rendered them highly attuned to subtle changes in the environment” (ibid.). In this way, a great amount of Indigenous environmental knowledge has been lost after generations of exclusion. It appears that most of those responsible for managing World Heritage sites and sensitive environments did not make their decisions simply to create uninhabited wilderness playgrounds for the affluent, but many did make, and continue to make, their decisions based on their perceptions that ecological integrity and biodiversity are seriously threatened, without considering local Indigenous knowledge and uses of heritage (ibid.). Considering these aspects, Ball et al. (2017) formulate guiding principles of selfdetermination, which reinforce Indigenous sovereignty. The concept conveys the extensive effort to re-focus the standard interpretation of history and status quo to be more inclusive and less ethnocentric. These principles include Indigenous determination of research needs and priorities, discussion of culturally appropriate ethics, increased collaboration among tribes, evaluation and critique of the community of Indigenous researchers, education of the wider research and government community, and outcomes for Indigenous Nations (ibid., 5). Ball et al. state: “Adopting this approach during undertakings and initiatives serves to strengthen tribal capacity in numerous ways, improve long-term relationships among agencies and tribes, and ultimately better preserve and protect shared resources and landscapes” (ibid.). Grounding World Heritage sites and the Indigenous Cultural Landscape approach in these principles expands the scope and reach of World Heritage sites far beyond how it is understood today.

8

On the social construction of ides of nature and wilderness see, for example, Cronon 1996; Binnema and Niemi 2006; Demeritt 2002; Rolston III 1997; and Williams 1980. 9 Binnema and Niemi (2006) elaborate upon the history of the removal of Indigenous people from national parks through a case study on the exclusion of the Stoney from Rocky Mountains (Banff National) Park in Canada between 1890 and 1920. They argue that the example of Banff National Park suggests that Indigenous people were excluded from national parks in the interests of game conservation, sport hunting, tourism, and ‘Indian civilization’ and assimilation, not necessarily to ensure that national parks became uninhabited wilderness.

7.4

Perceptions of Indigenous Heritage and Preservations of the Past

7.4

435

Perceptions of Indigenous Heritage and Preservations of the Past

As we need to recognize the representation of different cultures, we also need to recognize the complexity of past and present realities at World Heritage sites. World Heritage sites are perceived by the public as “expert bodies that hold truths on cultures, heritage and the past” (Onciul 2015, 4). This image, however, is “selfperpetuating” as the site “tells the story it needs to tell about the past in order to place itself as both an outcome of and a means of continuing the ongoing dynamics of selftransformation that the logic of culture promotes” (Bennett 2006, 56). Heritage sites not only influence how a community is treated by others, but also how a community views itself. Cultures are conceptual constructs, not physical entities to host collections, and stories told about these cultures need to be poly-vocal and told from different angles. These narratives shape people’s perception of heritage and of the people related to it. As powerful places of (self-) representation they also play an important role in the healing processes of Indigenous communities. Settler societies seem to be interested in preserving the past, as that is part of their common understanding and justification of their existence. For Indigenous people this is difficult, as they not only view the past differently, but they are trapped in it, as the writer Thomas King claims: What Native writers discovered, I believe, was that the North American past, the one that had been created in novels and histories, the one that had been heard on radio and seen on theatre screens and on television, the one that had been part of every school curriculum for the last two hundred years, that past was unusable, for it had not only trapped Native people in a time warp, it also insisted that our past was all we had (King 2003, 106).

World Heritage sites often contribute to trapping Indigenous people in the past, as has been the case at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. We must ask for contemporary stories and representations of Indigenous peoples in history books, school curricula, film and literature, and at World Heritage sites that are perceived as lighthouses of knowledge and understanding. Indeed, the representation of the past is always connected to power structures, and the denial of history can be identified as a tool of imperialist power, as Said (1978) argues, seeking control over a foreign people and region. The creation of a past gives control over the present, as Neufeld notes in relation to the Indigenous people of the Yukon: Thus, by denying northern Indigenous peoples their past, present and future, the national administration helped create and maintain the Metropolitan vision of an empty land (before their own settlement), one noting the Indigenous presence only as a contrast to the strengths of the immigrant population. Through its programs and policies, the state regularized this absence of Indigenous people as the norm (Neufeld 2018, 128).

While the Klondike Gold Rush is a significant national story and an important element of the World Heritage site nomination, stressing this period in the national remembrance not only creates challenges in delivering the history of both the non-Indigenous locals of Dawson and regional Indigenous people, but also limits

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the possibilities of communication between the different stakeholders, as Neufeld argues: By focusing on the communications between peoples across a cultural divide, instead of considering only their incommensurable ways of life, it is possible to more equably appreciate the cultural values and social interests of all perspectives. With such an approach it may be possible to negotiate a respectful and meaningful commemoration built on the mutual understanding of all parties. The Tr’ondëk-Klondike committee needs a cultural cartography10 of the century of conversations amongst the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, Dawson locals and the Canadian government – between Western and Indigenous discourses – to navigate a path to cultural pluralism. This cultural cartography maps the performances of contact, those public events, shared activities and formal exchanges through which one group expresses its identity and values in an attempt to communicate to or influence another (Neufeld 2018, 115, emphasis in original).

By exploring the many communications and contacts throughout history, it is possible to develop an understanding for the shared poly-vocal history and distinctive material culture written on the landscape of the heritage sites, and the narratives of all parties are made visible. Indeed, non-Indigenous people must learn to confront the (often hidden) history of Indigenous people in their region to build greater awareness of, and meaningful relations with them. Paulette Regan (2011), director of research for the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, claims that such a strategy of unlearning national myths and narratives that ignore Canadian colonialism or portray it as peaceful or benevolent, which she calls a process of “unsettling,” contributes to the larger task of decolonization. According to her, settlers must acknowledge the destructive legacy of a society that has persistently ignored and devalued Indigenous experience. In that respect, she advocates for an ethos that learns from the past, making space for an Indigenous historical counter-narrative to avoid perpetuating a colonial relationship between Indigenous and settler peoples. World Heritage sites can serve as such a medium for providing understanding and counter-narratives. One prerequisite is to not portray Indigenous peoples as ‘vanished’, but as alive and striving.11 World Heritage sites contribute to an “unsettling” pedagogy by confronting Canadian colonialism and the history of Indigenous people. Pursuing such a pedagogy is important because, as Mohawk scholar Taiaiake Alfred suggested, “Canadians are in denial, in extremis” (2011, ix) about the history and ongoing legacies of colonialism. This was demonstrated when Prime Minister of Canada, Stephen Harper, speaking at the 2009 G20 summit in Pittsburgh, proudly proclaimed to the world that Canada has “no history of colonialism.” In challenging people to learn about the damaging effects of colonialism, World 10 For a discussion of the concept of ‘cultural cartography,’ see Acevedo (2018). Neufeld (2018) received his inspiration for the use of the concept by White (1991) and Cruikshank (1998), as both describe trans-cultural contacts between North American Indigenous people and newcomers as set in and shaped by place. 11 The idea of Indigenous peoples as the ‘Last’ can be found in many products of popular culture and has become a profound part of North American consciousness, from The Last of the Mohicans (1992) to Ishi: The Last of the Yahi Indians (Tobing Rony 1994, 22).

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Heritage sites create opportunities for people “to fundamentally rethink our past and its implications for our present and future relations,” which Regan (2011, 4) deems necessary for decolonization. Education, however, is not simply about the transfer of knowledge, but it is “a transformative experiential learning that empowers people to makes changes in the world” (ibid., 23). It is a way of reconciling the interests of Indigenous communities with the interests of the broad public that must be presented with local uses and developments of heritage. Part of depicting a counter-narrative is the representation of Indigenous people at World Heritage sites. Former Canadian art curator at the Art Gallery of Ontario Andrew Hunter worries about institutions hesitating in their “commitment to make space for new voices – voices traditionally excluded from senior roles at public cultural institutions in Canada” (2017, n.p.). One issue that has informed this project is “the elitist, colonial roots” of heritage sites and museums, and, “what being a public institution truly means, and who controls and is allowed to speak in these nominally ‘public’ realms” (ibid.). Hunter states: We often begin with the origins of the contemporary museum, which was born out of the private collections of wealthy Europeans who had built their fortunes on the extraction of resources, and people, from the most vulnerable nations in the world. Out of this dubious practice evolved public educational institutions, or so they self-described. Really, they were outward displays of power that reinforced class division and validated the corporate and colonial systems that had made their founders rich. From wealth came power and then cultural dominance: museums set social rules, coercing the broader public toward shared values they deemed to be ‘acceptable.’ Despite everything, for most institutions, that’s the model that remains: ‘Value’ is decided by the very few and then presented to the many (Hunter 2017, n.p.).

For Indigenous peoples, in particular, Hunter claims, “these institutions remain unwelcoming spaces of trauma – spaces where their marginalization remains at the core of the institutions’ mission” (ibid.).12 World Heritage sites representing Indigenous people in exhibitions can only approach this challenge with meaningful Indigenous participation. People’s ethnic origin, heritage and culture are part of their distinct intellectual, scientific and spiritual achievements – the development of complex and intelligent works of art. Each nation or ethnic group has achieved these works in their own ways, having grown out of geographical positioning, necessity and inspiration. World Heritage has the obligation to teach about Indigenous culture and current problems and society; it has the responsibility to tell not only stories about the past, but also about the present, and that way help shape the future. The close connection of the concept of heritage with ideas of material permanence and authenticity is reflected in the discourses and practices relating to heritage and notions of preservation, protection, management, sustainability and a sense of

12 Hunter resigned from his position at the AGO in 2017. The same day as his letter appeared, the AGO announced a revised department structure, claimed a strengthened commitment to Indigenous art and announced Wanda Nanibush of the Beausoleil First Nation as new curator of Indigenous art (see also Dymond 2019).

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identity. The apparently ever-increasing importance of heritage in an individual and collective sense relates directly to a growing series of challenges to, and explorations of, notions of identity and belonging in a highly mobile world. For Indigenous people such as the Blackfoot, the Haida and the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, a close connection with their heritage means empowerment and strength in a highly challenging and demanding post-colonial world. Recognition and protection of Indigenous cultural heritage has been advocated at international, national, provincial and regional levels, but there has been no government agency in Canada, federally or provincially, that has taken on a key role supporting the protection and advancement of Indigenous cultural heritage (Aird et al. 2019, 25). The 1994 Task Force on Museums and First Peoples, jointly organized by the Assembly of First Nations and the Canadian Museums Association, conducted consultations to identify ways to better represent Indigenous peoples’ history and culture in memory institutions. The task force findings stressed the importance of cultural objects to Indigenous peoples and the need for their increased involvement in the interpretation of their heritage and recognized the desire and authority for Indigenous peoples to speak for themselves concerning their heritage. The recommendations of the task force influenced the development of more inclusive contemporary museum policies, but many of their recommendations have yet to be implemented (ibid.). However, the recent influx of cultural heritage initiatives and studies in Indigenous communities has been in response to resource development and a demand to address potential impacts during an environmental assessment process. More and more Indigenous nations and communities such as the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in have developed heritage departments with associated policies, processes and protocols to address the protection of their heritage in legislation and in practice. In addition to legal and political barriers, these departments experience massive demands from companies and governments and are burdened by a lack of funding, training, capacity and staff, technology, infrastructure and the need to engage at multiple levels due to the different approaches to heritage. The only solution to these challenges are, according to Aird et al. (2019, 26), Indigenous-led, communitybased approaches to heritage work, and organizations like the Indigenous Heritage Circle and the First Peoples’ Cultural Council have taken the lead on addressing these gaps. With political changes and Indigenous voices becoming more pronounced, and with more Indigenous land claims and self-governments, Indigenous people are addressing community needs and the uses that places and processes of heritage are put to in the present, the way the present constructs it, the role that heritage plays and the consequences it has. Indigenous peoples throughout Canada are undertaking various projects and actions to reclaim, protect and nurture their cultural heritage. Governments and organizations such as UNESCO need to “look to these communities and people as leaders and mentors in developing the types of programs and projects that situate Indigenous cultural heritage protection, revitalization and celebration firmly in the contemporary world while grounding them in historical experiences and culture” (ibid., 42). Initiatives and principles concerning heritage that

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should be followed, in that respect, include Indigenous leadership and control, sustainable and comprehensive funding, connections between people and the land, Indigenous heritage education programs, infrastructure and capacity building, repatriation programs, addressing laws, policies and current issues such as climate change through heritage planning, commemoration and interpretation as well as continuing research and monitoring (Aird et al. 2019). Public commemoration and interpretation of World Heritage sites associated with Indigenous heritage values are an especially meaningful way to acknowledge Indigenous peoples’ long and continuing presence on the land, which is central to community health and well-being. For Indigenous empowerment and community development through World Heritage, Indigenous involvement in the decision-making process is essential, and for heritage preservation to succeed it is fundamental that all stakeholders are involved in the process of conservation, including Indigenous communities. Heritage, together with education, can become the basis for the construction of meanings and learning. Visitors, however, must be able to read the context and reality that surrounds them, attributing sense to the learned contents in order to endow significant meanings to it. This conception of heritage coincides with the basic human necessities of orientation and identity, creating vital relations of humans with environments to give sense and order to the world. In this context, it becomes essential that the stories about Indigenous people at the sites are told from an Indigenous perspective. Thus, heritage needs to advance and develop, “creatively re-defining itself, seeking engagement in critical agendas relating to conflict resolution, inter-cultural dialogue and poverty reduction” (Aguda et al. 2013, 91). Hereby, heritage tourism “can relate to the emerging generations of tourists who seek not only to passively observe the past, but to learn from it and, where appropriate, challenge and change it” (ibid.). Understanding and protecting Indigenous heritage, including traditional knowledge, requires a systemic approach, and cultural protocols around the regulation of traditional knowledge are inherent in traditional knowledge systems. Only if these are respected, the expected teaching can follow, and Indigenous World Heritage, fundamental to the continuity, revival and survival of Indigenous cultural identity, will be an asset in the empowerment and community development of Indigenous people.

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Appendices

Appendix A: World Heritage Sites in Canada and the United States World Heritage Sites in North America (as of September 2021) (44 sites: 20 cultural, 22 natural, 2 mixed; of those are 1 endangered and 2 transboundary) CANADA (20 sites) Cultural (9) L’Anse aux Meadows National Historic Site, Newfoundland and Labrador, 1978, criteria (vi) Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, Alberta, 1981, criteria (vi) SGang Gwaay, British Columbia, 1981, criteria (iii) Historic District of Old Québec, Quebec, 1985, criteria (iv)(vi) Old Town Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, 1995, criteria (iv)(v) Rideau Canal, Ontario, 2007, criteria (i)(iv) Landscape of Grand Pré, Nova Scotia, 2012, criteria (v)(vi) Red Bay Basque Whaling Station, Labrador, 2013, criteria (iii)(iv) Writing-on-Stone / Áísínai’pi, Alberta, 2019, criteria (iii) Natural (10) Nahanni National Park, Northwest Territories, 1978, criteria (vii)(viii) Dinosaur Provincial Park, Alberta, 1979, criteria (vii)(viii) Kluane/Wrangell-St. Elias/Glacier Bay/Tatshenshini-Alsek,* Kluane: YT, AK, Glacier Bay: AK, Tatshenshini: BC, 1979, extensions 1992, 1994, criteria (vii)(viii)(ix)(x) Wood Buffalo National Park, Northwest Territories, Alberta, 1983, criteria (vii)(ix)(x) Canadian Rocky Mountain Parks, British Columbia, Alberta, 1984, extension 1990, criteria (vii) (viii); “Burgess Shale”, previously inscribed on the World Heritage List, is part of this site. Gros Morne National Park, Newfoundland and Labrador, 1987, criteria (vii)(viii) Waterton Glacier International Peace Park,* Alberta (CA), Montana (USA), 1995, criteria (vii)(ix) Miguasha National Park, Quebec, 1999, criteria (viii) Joggins Fossil Cliffs, Nova Scotia, 2008, criteria (viii) Mistaken Point, Newfoundland and Labrador, 2016, criteria (viii) (continued)

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 G. Susemihl, Claiming Back Their Heritage, Heritage Studies, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-40063-6

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Appendices

Mixed (1) Pimachiowin Aki, Ontario and Manitoba, 2018, criteria (iii)(vi)(ix) Tentative List (12 sites, last revision 2018) Natural (2) Île d’Anticosti, Québec, 2018, criteria (viii) Hecate Strait and Queen Charlotte Sound Glass Sponge Reefs Marine Protected Area, British Columbia, 2018, criteria (viii)(ix)(x) Cultural (6) Heart’s Content Cable Station Provincial Historic Site, 2018 criteria (ii)(iv) Qajartalik, Nunavut, 2018, criteria (iii) Stein Valley, British Columbia, 2018, criteria (iii)(vi) Tr’ondëk-Klondike, Yukon, 2004, criteria (iv)(v) Wanuskewin, Saskatchewan, 2018, criteria Yukon Ice Patches, Yukon, 2018, criteria (iii)(v) Mixed Sites (4) Gwaii Haanas, British Columbia, 2004, criteria (iii)(v)(vi)(vii)(ix)(x) Ivvavik / Vuntut / Herschel Island (Qikiqtaruk), Yukon, 2004, criteria (iv)(v)(vii)(viii)(x) Quttinirpaaq, Nunavut, 2004, criteria (iii)(vii)(viii)(x) Sirmilik National Park and Tallurutiup Imanga (proposed) National Marine Conservation Area, Nunavut, 2018, criteria (v)(ix) UNITED STATES Cultural (11) Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado, 1978, criteria (iii) Independence Hall, Pennsylvania, 1979, criteria (vi) Cahokia Mounds State Historic Site, Illinois, 1979, Modifications 2016, criteria (iii)(iv) La Fortaleza and San Juan National Historic Site, Puerto Rico, 1983, modifications 2016, criteria (vi) Statue of Liberty, New York, 1984, criteria (i)(vi) Chaco Culture, New Mexico, 1987, criteria (iii) Monticello and the University of Virginia in Charlottesville, Virginia, 1987, criteria (i)(iv)(vi) Taos Pueblo, New Mexico, 1992, criteria (iv) Monumental Earthworks of Poverty Point, Louisiana, 2014, criteria (iii) San Antonio Missions, Texas, 2015, criteria (ii) The 20th-Century Architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright, New York and Pennsylvania, 2019, criteria (ii) Natural Sites (12) Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming/Montana/Idaho, 1978, criteria (vii)(viii)(ix)(x) Everglades National Park, Florida, 1979, criteria (viii)(ix)(x), endangered Grand Canyon National Park: Arizona, 1979, criteria (vii)(viii)(ix)(x) Kluane/Wrangell-St. Elias/Glacier Bay/Tatshenshini-Alsek*: YT, BC, AK, 1979, extension: 1992, 1994, criteria (vii)(viii)(ix)(x) Redwood National and State Parks, California, 1980, criteria (vii)(ix) Mammoth Cave National Park, Kentucky, 1981, criteria (vii)(viii)(x) Olympic National Park, Washington, 1981, criteria (vii)(ix) Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee and North Carolina, 1983, criteria (vii)(viii) (ix)(x) Yosemite National Park, California, 1984, criteria (vii)(viii) Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, Hawaii, 1987, criteria (viii) Carlsbad Caverns National Park, New Mexico, 1995, criteria (vii)(viii) Waterton Glacier International Peace Park,* Alberta (CA), California/Montana (USA) 1995, criteria (vii)(ix) (continued)

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Mixed Sites (1) Papahānaumokuākea, Hawaii, 2010, criteria (iii)(vi)(viii)(ix)(x) Tentative List (19 sites; last revision 2017) Cultural (11) Brooklyn Bridge, New York, 2017, criteria (ii)(iv) Central Park, New York, 2017, criteria (ii)(iv) Civil Rights Movement Sites, Alabama, 2008 criteria (vi) Dayton Aviation Sites, Ohio, 2008, criteria (ii) Early Chicago Early Skyscrapers, Illinois, 2017, criteria (i)(iv) Ellis Island, New Jersey and New York, 2017, criteria (iv) Hopewell Ceremonial Earthworks, Ohio, 2008, criteria (iii)(vi) Moravian Church Settlements, Pennsylvania, 2017, criteria (iii)(iv) Mount Vernon, Virginia, 2008, criteria (iv) Serpent Mound, Ohio, 2008, criteria (i)(iii)(iv) Thomas Jefferson Buildings, Virginia, 2008, criteria (i)(iv)(vi) Natural (8) Big Bend National Park, Texas, 2017, criteria (viii)(ix) California Current Conservation Complex, California, 2017, criteria (vii)(viii)(ix)(x) Marianas Trench National Monument, Pacific Islands, U.S. Territory, Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands, Guam, 2017, criteria (viii)(ix)(x) National Marine Sanctuary of American Samoa/Rose Atoll National Marine Monument ( formerly Fagatele Bay National Marine Sanctuary): American Samoa; 2008; criteria: (vii)(x) Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge, Georgia, 2008, criteria (viii)(ix)(x) Pacific Remote Islands Marine National Monument, Pacific Islands, 2017, criteria (vii)(viii)(x) Petrified Forest National Park, Arizona, 2008, criteria (vii)(viii) White Sands National Monument, New Mexico, 2008, criteria (vii)(viii)(ix)(x) Property with Indigenous content; * Transboundary property Sources: UNESCO, World Heritage List, http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/; UNESCO, “Tentative Lists”, http://whc.unesco.org/en/tentativelists; National Parks Service, “U.S. World Heritage Tentative List”, https://www.nps.gov/subjects/internationalcooperation/revised_tentative_list.htm [accessed 05 Sept 2021]

Appendix B: Interview Questions Guide for Site Managers and Staff 1. UNESCO – How important is the UNESCO label for the heritage site in terms of protection and preservation, financing, tourism, marketing and prestige? – How much are the visitors aware of UNESCO? – Do you know how and why the site was inscribed on the UNESCO list? 2. Ownership, Management and Control of World Heritage – Who owns/should own the heritage site? Who has legal and political jurisdiction? – Please explain the management structure and strategies for the site.

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– How can effective heritage management be undertaken in accordance with Indigenous law and community control? – How does the management of Cultural World Heritage differ from the management of other cultural heritage sites? – What is necessary for managing Indigenous cultural heritage in terms of knowledge, training, and understanding? – Gwaii Haanas: The question of ownership is still unresolved. What consequences does that have for the control and management of the site? How does the co-management work? What are the advantages of and challenges for the management? What could other nations learn from your experience? – Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump: Do the traditional Blackfoot owners work collaboratively with the government to design and implement a method for a cultural heritage assessment and management that not only meets legislative requirements relating to an archaeological site, but also Indigenous needs regarding this culturally significant landscape? – Tr’ondëk-Klondike: How do the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in administer their heritage? Why is the TH Heritage Act important? What are the difficulties in relationship building and cooperation with the Yukon government and the federal government? 3. Community involvement – What are the opportunities for the community? – How is the community involved in the heritage protection? – What tensions and challenges arise or are mediated? 4. Identity formation and Education – How is Cultural World Heritage helping Indigenous people in identifying with culture? How do they see themselves through Cultural World Heritage? – How can they learn from them? – Visitors’ expectations: What do visitors learn from Cultural World Heritage? – What stories are narrated; what is left unsaid? – Visitors’ knowledge/stereotypes: What do visitors learn about Indigenous people?

Appendix C: Questionnaire for Visitors at Heritage Sites A) General information 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Name of the cultural heritage site: Why did you choose to visit this cultural heritage site? What were you most looking forward to seeing or doing here? What did you see and do? What did you find most interesting?

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B) If you came with children: 6. What was most interesting for your children? 7. How old are the children that you came with? C) Information on site 8. How much did you learn about: (a) (b) (c) (d) (e)

political history economical history social history cultural history First Nations history

a lot 5 5 5 5 5

4 4 4 4 4

3 3 3 3 3

2 2 2 2 2

nothing 1 1 1 1 1

9. About what topics would you have liked to learn more? 10. Did the visit add to your understanding of Canadian history? Yes / No 11. How would you assess your knowledge about Canadian history before and after the visit? D) Interaction and Interpretation 12. Did you speak with the interpreters or guides at the site? Yes / No 13. Did you speak with male or female interpreters or both? Male / Female / Both 14. How did they respond? 15. What were the interpreters doing? 16. Would you have liked the interpreters to act or react differently? E) Cultural Heritage 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23.

What is the use of cultural heritage? Who owns this cultural heritage site you just visited? Who should own cultural heritage in general? Who should decide how cultural heritage is being presented to the public? Should cultural heritage be protected? Have you heard of UNESCO? What is UNESCO? What cultural heritage in Canada is currently protected by UNESCO?

F) Personal information 24. Male / Female? 25. Age: 26. Profession/Job: 27. Where are you from? Country: Province: Town: 28. With how many people did you come to visit this site?