Briarpatch Magazine Issues

A Briarpatch Magazine issue. Contains links to content and ordering information.

By Dave Oswald Mitchell
Briarpatch Magazine
March/April 2010

“At every women’s gathering the divisions of race, class, nationality and ethnicity erupt, tearing the unity that brings women together. . . . We can pretend that differences do not exist, or we can explore them, and in the process reformulate feminism itself. The latter is more difficult and painful, but indispensable, if sisterhood is to become more than a slogan.”

Asoka Bandarage, “Toward International Feminism,” 1994

“[A] vision of global feminism should be one which engages women at all levels of society in all aspects of their lives, encouraging productive diversity rather than homogeneity, while proposing a pro-active redistribution of power, rather than reactive critique of its current allotment.”

Renee Martyna, “Whiter Global Feminism?,” E-merge 2000

This issue of Briarpatch is about opening our activism to new voices and new perspectives. As Naomi Wolf recently observed, “our (Western) moment of feminist leadership is over now, for good reasons. . . . [T]he leadership role is shifting to women in the developing world.”

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In an age of intensifying global inequalities and social upheaval, how are women’s movements responding, particularly in the Global South and in marginalized communities? How are anti-imperialist and anti-capitalist feminists adapting their demands, tactics and strategies to changing circumstances? To what extent is liberal/Western/white/middle-class feminism aiding or inhibiting the struggles of women when these struggles intersect with issues of race, class, nationality and ethnicity? What are the emerging paradigms that will shape struggles for women’s autonomy in the decades to come? These are the sorts of questions we explore in our “global feminism” issue.

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By Joyce Green
Briarpatch Magazine
March/April 2010

This essay is adapted from remarks delivered at the Sisters in Spirit vigil in Regina, SK, October 6, 2009.


Some things defy articulation. How can a community conceptualize the vicious, racist misogyny that leaves scores of Aboriginal women missing and murdered? We try, because silence really is complicity – because we are all affected, we are all related and we do not accept the loss of these women. I say to the families of missing and murdered women: we are humbled by your courage in the face of such pain.

The women’s movement has a saying: the personal is political. We share our personal experiences, and in that way, we make them political. This is what Sisters in Spirit is doing. This is what the Native Women’s Association of Canada is doing. This is what the families of the missing and murdered women are doing.

Our personal conditions are not just private – they are the result of structures, processes, policies, laws, misogyny and racism. Once we understand that, we find solidarity, begin to analyze our situation and then take political action. In our solidarity and action we have power; we are not only victims.

There are so many names, too many for me to recite. But I remember in particular the girl whose name was the first branded into the national consciousness – Helen Betty Osborne, a 16-year-old high school student who was kidnapped, raped and murdered by four white boys, protected by their community for decades. She would be my age had she lived. Closer to home, I remember Pamela George, a young mother, kidnapped, raped and murdered by two young white men in Regina. I remember Amber, and Daleen, and Tara-Lyn, and all the sisters who are no longer with us. I am enraged that the loss of these women is a regular occurrence.

Generations apart, they have all been taken from us by an evil that has not gone away. And while racism and sexism come together in the lives of Aboriginal women, we know that not only white men have preyed on these women.

Aboriginal women and men have suffered from the violence of colonialism, but they have not suffered in the same way. Many women are victimized by assault, rape and murder. But indigenous women are especially vulnerable to male violence because of the convergence of sexism and racism. According to Amnesty International and the Native Women’s Association of Canada, Aboriginal women are five times more likely to be murdered than other women in Canada.

“It’s a good place to raise a family,” people said when I moved to Regina in 1998. But not for my girl, who is visibly Aboriginal. I raised my daughter in fear – always fearing she would become a victim, would go missing, would be killed. She came close to it. I am lucky. She is alive. It could so easily have been otherwise.

Racism is an ideology that justifies the oppression and thefts of colonialism. Racism allows the settler population to see themselves as deserving, while the Other, the indigenous, is seen as deviant and deficient. Racism gives rise to white privilege, enjoyed by those who can choose not to know about colonialism or indigenous peoples, but who nonetheless benefit from being white in a racist settler society. Those with privilege receive quality education and good jobs, and are genuinely distressed at the suffering of indigenous peoples, while being blind to the ways in which their privilege arises from the historical and ongoing oppression of indigenous peoples.

The racism that I’m describing leads predominantly white politicians, police and media to pay less attention to missing Aboriginal women, and to ignore the factors that make them so vulnerable. They prefer to talk about “cultural differences” instead of oppression, about “risk factors” instead of colonialism. By focusing only on individuals and ignoring history, they can be blind to the fact that this awful problem of missing and murdered Aboriginal women is a consequence of our social, economic and political relationships.

Together, we remember these women and commit to working to build a society where women are not under such threats; where we will not always have to be afraid; where we need not meet to name the missing and share our pain; where such atrocities do not happen; where colonialism will be a thing of the past and we can finally work together for justice for all.

Blessed be, all my relations.

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Reviewed By Tyler McCreary
Briarpatch Magazine
March/April 2010

In Compact, Contract, Covenant (University of Toronto Press, 2009), J. R. Miller provides the first comprehensive history of treaty-making in Canada. From the earliest days of trading partnerships and military alliances to modern comprehensive land claims, Miller explores the complex and shifting relations that guided the formation of treaties. Although he is primarily an archival historian, Miller draws upon substantial research on oral histories to capably address not only Crown motivations but also Aboriginal intentions in forging covenants with the newcomers.

While treaties are typically viewed simply as a means of dispossessing Aboriginal peoples of their lands, Miller offers a much more nuanced look at the complex history of convergent and competing interests that the treaties embody. Dispossessing Aboriginal peoples of their lands certainly represents a core objective of Crown negotiators for the last couple of centuries, but Miller reminds readers that there was a long and rich history of treaty-making with Aboriginal nations that preceded land transfers. For more than a century and a half, Aboriginal peoples integrated Europeans into their existing kinship system through trade compacts and military alliances. This history of relations between peoples, too often forgotten in settler society, forms the basis of how many Aboriginal peoples understand treaties.

Miller traces the centuries-long transformation of treaty-making from these early systems of Aboriginal alliance towards the formalized terms of British law. This transformation produced ever-increasing discord between Crown and Aboriginal understandings of treaty; Miller’s history provides an excellent framework for understanding this conflicted legacy. Miller argues that treaties were vital to the construction of Canada, and frames his history of treaty-making as a Canadian one. This is a frame that we may want to question for its nationalist presumptions. First, however, it is worth reviewing the compelling historical trajectory that Miller traces.

In the early period, Europeans adapted to existing Aboriginal systems, following Aboriginal norms of ceremony in establishing trading relationships and forging agreements. Trade encounters were marked by formal welcomes, oratory, gift exchange and feasting, ritually renewing the bonds between peoples. Participants sacralized relationships through smoking a calumet and thus invoking the Great Spirit to spiritually bind them together. While Europeans desired furs and First Nations wanted European goods, these were not simply economic exchanges.

These commercial compacts formed the basis of peace and friendship treaties. In fact, for First Nations the two were integrally connected. The French, working through Aboriginal systems without formal written agreements, were first among the colonial powers to seriously delve into the realm of military alliances. The British, in contrast, began in 1707 to use a more formal system of peace and friendship treaties. The introduction of British modes of textually encoding agreements began to transform the processes of forging cultural connections among allies.

Following France’s abandonment of New France in the Treaty of Paris, the British King issued the Royal Proclamation of 1763 to quell dissent among France’s former Aboriginal allies. Seeking to address some of the chief Aboriginal grievances regarding settlement and unscrupulous land deals, the Royal Proclamation recognized Aboriginal title and created a protocol for acquiring Native lands.

It was only after the Proclamation that territorial treaty-making emerged as the governing paradigm. However, if the intent of the Proclamation found warm reception among Aboriginal leaders, its implementation was much less popular. Crown representatives often failed to uphold the particular requirements of the Proclamation in negotiations. Nonetheless, the negotiations continued to respect Aboriginal customary protocols of treaty-making, including sharing the pipe and practices of gift-giving.

Thereafter, there was an increasing rift between British and Aboriginal understandings of the relationship established through treaties. For the British, treaties were documents of land cession. The 12 treaties signed prior to the War of 1812 provided access to Mississauga-controlled lands along the Great Lakes while recognizing Aboriginal peoples’ continuing rights to land use. First Nations’ increasing insistence on having particular lands set aside for traditional practices, as well as assistance fighting settler encroachments, highlighted their increasing problems with settler disrespect of Aboriginal lands and traditional practices.

As the costs and responsibilities associated with treaty-making increasingly shifted from Britain to the colony, this disrespect increasingly came to characterize the colonial administration’s dealings with Aboriginal peoples. Subsequent to the War of 1812, policy shifted to bring about not only the dispossession of Aboriginal peoples but also an erasure of their sense of distinct identity. There was an increased focus on “civilizing” (assimilating) the Indians. By the mid-19th century, the government of Upper Canada was consistently acting in violation of the terms of the Proclamation, issuing access to resources over which it had not yet treatied. In the Maritimes, Quebec, and British Columbia the government failed almost entirely to treaty for land.

In the northern Great Lakes area and the Western Prairies, strong Prairie and Woodlands First Nations insisted on treaties before settlement or development, interfering with surveyors and prospectors on their lands. These nations looked to treaties as a way to protect their peoples through the economic transition to a new way of life. Their defence of their title led to the creation of the Robinson Treaties, and the first seven numbered treaties.

Crown Treaty Commissioners again treatied in accordance with First Nations protocols, entering kin relations with the pipe ceremony that sacralized all the words spoken in their discussion under the Creator. However, Miller makes it clear that the Commissioners likely possessed little understanding of the significance of ceremony, contributing to substantial differences in the encoding of the spirit and intent of treaties in First Nations oral histories and the Crown’s written documents. While the texts of these treaties typically cede vast swaths of land, establish reserves, initiate annuities and recognize hunting and fishing rights, the oral history of nations such as the Blackfoot indicate that treaties were understood as agreements to share, not surrender, the land.

The numbered northern treaties (8 through 11, plus the northern adhesions to Treaty Five) were signed between 1899 and 1921 and covered the present-day northern portions of Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Ontario and northeastern B.C., as well as western Northwest Territories and eastern Yukon. This was the final stage of historic treaty-making. While northern First Nations had been demanding treaties for a substantial period of time, it was only with the recognition of hydro, mining, and oil potential in the north that the government sought to treaty. These treaty expeditions were hurried and poorly executed, resulting in the exclusion of some bands, most notably the Lubicon Lake Cree. The crude economic calculus guiding the process further excluded prime sites for economic development, such as potential hydro sites, from reserve selection.

Nonetheless, the treaties continued to be conducted with gestures to the elaborate ceremonies established during the fur trade, although in the harried context of these agreements it was largely reduced to a feast following the conclusion of the agreement. Knowledgeable about past problems with treaty implementation, northern First Nations sought greater assurance of the protection of their rights under treaty, soliciting extensive oral promises that went unrecorded in the text. Thus, the northern treaties often demonstrate the greatest discord between the written text and oral record.

From 1923 until the James Bay Agreement in the 1970s, the government abstained from treaty activities. During the 1970s, as the government sought to further extend resource exploitation onto untreatied lands, First Nations again pressed their rights, forcing the initiation of modern treaty-making. Bolstered by a spate of Supreme Court decisions recognizing the validity of Aboriginal historic claims and necessity of addressing them, Aboriginal peoples forced the government to develop a new federal comprehensive claims process.

Miller notes that modern treaties represent a significant departure from the model of historic treaty negotiations. Backed by advances in legal recognition, and the constitutionalization of Aboriginal rights, the negotiations are complex and require years to complete. The final agreements are hundreds of pages long and marked by dense legal jargon, and Aboriginal protocol is absent as a shared ceremony.

While Miller acknowledges how modern claims legal proceduralism is effacing traditional Aboriginal forms of treaty-making, he adopts an ambiguous position with regard to these modern treaties. Miller recognizes the criticisms of extinguishment policy, of how modern treaties entail Aboriginal peoples abandoning their broad but undefined traditional rights in favour of a limited, clearly defined subset of those rights, plus cash compensation. But he simply states “[w]hether or not this formula will prove satisfying and effective remains to be seen” (266-267).

Politically, Miller presents a treaty federalist position. He argues that Canadians need to recognize the validity of Aboriginal rights and claims to land, while he castigates some contemporary Aboriginal claims to distinct nationhood and sovereignty as based on what he perceives as specious arguments about the nature of historical agreements. The idea of “Canada” itself is not up for negotiation.

The way in which Miller frames his history within the assumptions of Canadian nationalism, as “a history of treaty-making in Canada,” serves to naturalize the idea of Canada historically, even as it disrupts the conventional terms of Canadian history in its insistence on the centrality of treaty federation in constituting a European claim to share this land mass.

Nonetheless, Miller’s history effectively highlights the oft forgotten or obscured histories of mutuality between Aboriginal and European peoples. It is an important book, as it documents the necessity of understanding treaties as two-party agreements with ongoing political implications. To understand treaties simply as tools of dispossession silences Aboriginal histories and traditions of treaty-making, and discounts any political strategy that would see adherence to treaty claims as an effective means of addressing historical grievances and unmet responsibilities. Where Miller is most powerful and most provocative is in his reminder of the ways in which early treaties were forged through Aboriginal traditions, inviting newcomers into kinship relations with First Nations.

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By Teresa Krug
Briarpatch Magazine
March/April 2010

Even after the doctors had left, the Peruvian alpaca sweaters lay neatly folded in the large suitcase near the entrance. The clothing had been carefully selected, packed and transported to the edge of town the previous day in the hope that a group of foreign doctors who were passing through the area might take an interest. After perusing the collection, however, the foreigners purchased the inexpensive finger puppets in lieu of the pricier sweaters, hats and mittens. Pressured to compete with the market prices in downtown Arequipa, the knitters had even offered a discount.

The knitters, who call themselves Ñaña (meaning “sisters” in the local indigenous language, Quechua), are constantly mindful of their struggle to earn a living wage. Located in the dusty, depressed community of Alto Cayma on the outskirts of beautiful Arequipa, Peru, Ñaña’s three-room workshop offers its members a refuge from past hardships and current struggles. Inside, the women are welcomed and supported by one another.

Though their genuine alpaca clothing is far superior to the products sold in the city centre, foreign tourists don’t know – or care – about the difference and are often unwilling to pay the premium. Accustomed to paying essentially pennies for souvenirs in Southern countries, buyers bargain the city vendors down from their already too-low prices to prices that oftentimes do not even cover the original costs.

Because of this, the members of Ñaña have refused to sell their products in the local markets for the last few years. The members are instead focusing on a much wider, global clientele. As the women regularly remind themselves, they must “salir adelante.” Roughly translated, this means to “pull through” or “forge ahead.”

“I want it to be a big business, to be able to export,” explains Andrea Gutierrez, one of the founding members of Ñaña. “That’s my dream.”

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The story of Gutierrez’s life resembles that of many of her compañeras. As a child she experienced the crushing effects of losing five of her 13 siblings to poverty-related deaths; as a teenager she worked long hours tending to animals and working for a street vendor before becoming a single mother at the age of 20. Forced to relocate to Arequipa, she began grueling fieldwork to support her son.

Around the time of her second son’s birth two years later, she connected with a friend and began spending afternoons knitting. The hobby had never gone beyond generating a small side income, but now it seemed more lucrative.

Until 2004 the women would meet and knit every Wednesday; it was still necessary to hold other jobs to support themselves. At first they spent the entirety of the day and well into the night knitting in someone’s home. They would then walk an hour from Alto Cayma to Arequipa’s city centre because they could not afford a taxi or bus. For all their efforts, they would be rewarded with roughly $3 for a pair of mittens.

“I was fine, but the prices just didn’t go up,” Gutierrez said.

Eventually a place to knit and market their products was arranged by a local priest in Alto Cayma. Other resources began trickling in and more women began to join. Today there are a handful of regulars with another 15 or so who cycle through. Some of the women have been knitting their entire lives; others have only just begun. Some still hold other part-time jobs. The vast majority of the women have children. All want to improve their knitting and expand their business.

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Yeny Narcy Panta Coripua, who began knitting when she joined the group, credits a lot of her success to Gutierrez, who always pushed her to learn.

“Yes, you can. You have to come, you have to come,” Coripua said Gutierrez told her when she doubted herself.

Coripua began working as an empleada, or domestic worker, at the age of eight to support her four siblings when her father passed away and her mother abandoned them. At the age of 20, pregnant and alone, she too came to the Arequipa area. She worked as a money changer for the local buses and later owned a food stand before meeting her now-husband. She eventually found Ñaña because her second-born child attended daycare in the same complex. Knitting through Ñaña has now provided her with a sense of independence and self-worth that former jobs could not.

Whatever their backgrounds, the women share one common goal: expand Ñaña for the benefit of everyone involved. When speaking about their objectives, they use “we” and “us” rather than “I” or “me.” Their struggle continues to be an uphill battle as they resist the urge to sell their products for less than they are worth. Their name is also still relatively unknown and the current recession has not helped their business. Fortunately, they have established connections with a few fair trade stores and high schools in North America. Despite the odds, they are determined to continue forging ahead in search of financial independence for themselves and their families.

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Illustration by Kim Sokol

Illustration by Kim Sokol

By Erum Hasan
Briarpatch Magazine
March/April 2010

I was 14 years old, riding a Parisian metro on a Friday evening, no doubt bound for some teenage mischief. The peace of my journey was interrupted when a woman wearing a burqa entered the compartment, accompanied by her husband and young son. The three of them, visibly tourists, looked at the metro maps in clear view of everyone else in the car.

This is a scene that occurs many times a day in Paris: tourist families mapping out their routes in the web of the metro underworld. But this family was different; the protagonists were atypical. I remember my horror at the whisperings, the looks, the nudges, and even some finger pointing at the woman in the burqa. A woman sitting across from me sighed exasperatedly and mumbled something about “these Arabs” and how they treat their women.

I was embarrassed and angry at this family for having entered this very public realm of which I was a part. I didn’t want my co-commuters to be judging all Muslim women relative to this one with her covered face. It was challenging enough to be a Muslim teen in Paris without having to take on this iconic image of the burqa-clad woman that had disturbed the cultural uniformity on that metro car. Feeling resentment for her and the response she was eliciting, I looked away, hoping she would disappear quickly.

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By Angela Day
Briarpatch Magazine
March/April 2010

Hondurans’ resistance to the June 2009 coup has shown spirit and determination, with thousands of people resisting the theft of their democracy despite curfews, cops and targeted killings. The roots of this resistance run deep, anchored in organizations like COHAPAZ, the Honduran Committee for Peace Action.

COHAPAZ, a grassroots social justice organization, is comprised of an intricate network of militant women in the communities surrounding the capital, Tegucigalpa, where they have been organizing for over 30 years. Their mandate is to “fight poverty and create justice” in Honduras. What that immense task looks like on the ground is a multi-generational network of mostly women activists, a vibrant urban agriculture movement and frequent popular education workshops. They regularly organize popular assemblies, demonstrations and ad hoc workshops in these materially poor communities where even access to clean water is a political struggle.

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Blind women line up at a hospital in Chitrakoot, Madhya Pradesh, India

Blind women line up at a hospital in Chitrakoot, Madhya Pradesh, India

By Heather Wardle
Briarpatch Magazine
March/April 2010

Over the past decade, much has been written about female literacy and how access to even a basic education can reduce poverty and improve the lives of women and girls. But for millions of women in the Global South, it is access to eye care that they need most.

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The sugary crazy with the gendered glaze: The Ottawa Cupcakery's Fairy Princess Pink cupcake

The sugary crazy with the gendered glaze: The Ottawa Cupcakery's Fairy Princess Pink cupcake

By Ondine Park and Tonya Davidson
Briarpatch Magazine
March/April 2010

In the summer of 2009, on a humdrum Edmonton afternoon, three of us went out for cupcakes. Fellow sociologists, knitting buddies and feminist reading group pals, we found ourselves at Fuss, a cupcake, gelato and coffee shop all rolled into one. It was there that we began to ponder the phenomenon of cupcake shops that seem to be popping up everywhere.

Cupcake shops are proliferating wildly, marketed to adults but with a frosting of childhood nostalgia. Sweet, pretty desserts adorned with opulent icing, cupcakes are the pinnacle of childhood treats, and embody the “sugar and spice and everything nice” notion of girliness. But rather than just representing a sweet indulgence for a sugar-addicted culture, does the nostalgia fuelling the cupcakes craze signal a broad cultural yearning for another time and another way of being – the seemingly glamorous Mad Men life when women hand-crafted little cakes for every single one of their bambinos? As we licked the ganache off our lips and the sugar crash hit, the question sent a twinge through our feminist political sensibilities. We asked ourselves: was this trend sexist and infantilizing? Or is it a case of third wave feminist entrepreneurs reclaiming and celebrating kitchen craftiness?

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Over 2,000 statues fill the walls of Vientiane’s Wat Si Saket, the Laos capital’s oldest temple (built in 1818). (Photo: Nikko Snyder)

By Gita Tewari
Briarpatch Magazine
March/April 2010

It’s the last day of the week-long Living Buddhism class I’ve been attending at Wat Songdhamma Kalayani, an all-female temple in Nakhon Pathom, Thailand. After our morning chants and prayers, we have set off on an alms round with nuns and novitiates from the temple. We make our way from the temple grounds into the surrounding community, where groups of people are waiting along the street and in front of their homes to donate food and other supplies to the nuns.

We walk quietly, in single file. It is still early in the morning and the air doesn’t have the oppressive humidity to which I have grown accustomed. We see male monks in their saffron robes down the street from us, also making their daily alms rounds.

When a man kneels reverentially in front of the young female nun leading the prayers, I finally understand the religious clergy’s resistance to ordination of Bhikkhunis (the highest order of Buddhist nuns) in Thailand. In a country where even the King defers to monks, the implications of allowing women to inhabit the same spiritual plane as men would have a profound effect on a country that is still bound by ancient traditions.

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