PERVASIVE PROBLEM

Calling out racism

Some of you may be wondering, “What is cultural appropriation?”

It’s not super-complex. It’s basically assuming that because you’re better than another race — y’know, just naturally superior — that you can do their stuff better: their art, their spiritual beliefs, practices and cultural regalia.

As a First Nations person, I see examples of it all the time. I tend not to react to everything because then I’d be in a constant state of stress, which would be awesome if I was one of those people who loses weight when under stress, but I’m actually the type who stuffs cookie after cookie into my mouth with alarming speed.

One of my least favourites examples of appropriation is the sexy “Indian Girl” costumes that appear around Halloween. On a certain level, when I see a non-native woman wearing one, it makes me think that they are saying, “Unlike those other dull brown women you see all the time, I make this look good.” (You have to imagine it with the tone and attitude of Will Smith in Men in Black.)

On a less superficial level, these costumes suggest indigenous women are sexy caricatures of women, like the Jessica Rabbit of races. At best that means your date might suspect you are wild in bed; at worst, the assumption is that you are a slut. As a First Nations woman, this is a distressing idea. It means that we are treated with less respect by society.

Indigenous women have one of the highest rates of sexual assault victimization in Canada. In addition, more than a thousand indigenous women have gone missing or have been murdered in this country — and no, I’m not saying it’s because of stupid costumes made in China. The reason is that it’s socially acceptable to denigrate First Nations women, and when we complain, to dismiss our complaints or punish us for making them.

I follow some indigenous women on social media, and they call out examples of cultural appropriation or just plain old racism frequently. They do this at a great sacrifice.

Writer Alicia Elliot, who is indigenous, complained about an editor who prefaced her essay on cultural appropriation with an article about how people who appropriate should get prizes. When Elliot complained, she was so attacked online that she shut down her Twitter account to stop the abuse.

Recently, Dr. Adrienne Keene, an indigenous professor, posted pictures of two women wearing headdresses at a music festival. The women apologized — although one complained that she thought a headdress was a just a “feathered hat.” Yeah right, and a burka is just a really warm dress.

But people were so furious at Dr. Keene that they inundated her Twitter feed and her work email with criticism. Not all were abusive; some were “helpful” tips on the proper way to talk to people about racism. Uh, thanks for the help, but such tips are completely useless.

I don’t understand the logic of the tone police in this conversation. There is no easy way to tell people they are being racist.

I am a non-confrontational person and I’ve tried many ways to communicate my point gently — I’ve tried going quiet when others say racist things, hoping that my steely gaze would stop their words. It didn’t. I’ve tried educating people — “First Nations people do pay taxes!” But dissect one stereotype and another 10 more take its place.

I’ve even tried being a really, really, really good First Nations person — kind and polite, with eyes bright and shining with goodwill. It didn’t work. They just thought I was a different race.

It is often indigenous women taking on these battles. I suspect it’s because in a racist, patriarchal society, indigenous women are at the bottom — and who the hell wants to be there?

Like the strong, and yes, angry, indigenous women on social media, I call out racism as well. So let me be perfectly clear. I’m not saying you cannot wear the “sexy squaw” costumes and other “Indian dress up outfits” like those Lethbridge high school students, but don’t act all surprised when someone calls you a racist dumbass.