WE’RE ASKING NOW FOR CHANGE.

of the work of the people who came before me, my generation’s work and now the work on social media, it’s all inter-related and it’s all part of a large cacophony of people who are we’re not going to stop asking,” he said. “We’re in a new paradigm, where indigenous voices are louder because of social media, because we don’t have to occupy chairs in mainstream news media voices heard.”

Writing last week on Canadaland, the Métis author Chelsea Vowel said indigenous Canadians “are talking back, despite the abuse we receive every time we challenge mainstream narratives about us. There has been resistance to hearing us, but if recent events are any indication, the Canadian literary and media establishment may no longer have any choice.”

Sage Paul, a Dene artist based in Toronto, has used her art to challenge the fashion industry’s appropriation of indigenous designs. She said her parents’ generation was militant but did not have access to the same platforms for expression. to have our “We can do it not only across Canada and North America, but there’s a global movement,” she said in an interview. “There are indigenous people around the world who all have very similar histories of colonialism and genocide.”

One obstacle encountered by opponents of cultural appropriation is that the term is used so broadly its power can become diluted. How, for example, can cultural appropriation be taken seriously when it is invoked to challenge cafeteria sushi at a U.S. liberal arts college or a burrito shop run by white women in Portland, Ore.?

George Nicholas, an archeology professor at Simon Fraser University and director of the Intellectual Property Issues in Cultural Heritage research project, argues that borrowing between cultures has shaped societies around the world, and there is nothing wrong with that.

But just as trademarks, patents and copyrights protect intellectual property, he said, there should be protection for elements of indigenous heritage. The historical power imbalance between mainstream society and indigenous peoples has meant that little thought was given to the impact of appropriation, whether it is mass-produced gift-shop totem poles or high-end fashion copied from an Inuit parka.

“If I am taking something that is important to someone’s heritage, whether it’s a particular design or a particular set of stories or songs, my using those, my sharing those, my including those in some sort of commercial product, can result in cultural, or spiritual, or economic harm to the people whose heritage it is,” he said.

Kulchyski’s idea of “loving Indians to death” reflects the fact that often appropriation stems from good intentions. But he said it turns heritage into a commodity.

“By simply saying, ‘Oh we love your culture. We’ll have you dance during our Olympic ceremony. We’ll have you say a prayer before our meetings, but we haven’t actually substantively changed the fact that the economy is based on extraction from your lands, and we’re going to continue doing that,’ basically it becomes, at best, a hollow gesture and, at worst ... your culture becomes something for sale.”

Keeshig-Tobias has watched the resurgence of the cultural appropriation debate with interest. The abuse she took for her stand in 1990 still stings.

“I was vilified, by just about everybody ... big names in the Canadian writing community,” she said in an interview. “The complaint was that I was shackling the imagination.”

Her response then and today: “Your imagination comes right up to my nose, and if it goes any further, then I push back.”

She said it is discouraging to hear the “same old arguments” resurfacing but heartening to see a new generation pushing back.

“Hopefully they’ll listen now. Like I said, we’re in a new era,” she said. “So many things have happened between then and now, and there are so many more wonderfully articulate indigenous people.”