Indigenous Notions of Ownership and Libraries, Archives and Museums 9783110363234, 9783110362992

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IFLA Publications

Edited by Michael Heaney International Federation of Library Associations and Institutions Fédération Internationale des Associations de Bibliothécaires et des Bibliothèques Internationaler Verband der bibliothekarischen Vereine und Institutionen Международная Федерация Библиотечных Ассоциаций и Учреждений Federación Internacional de Asociaciones de Bibliotecarios y Bibliotecas

Volume 166

Indigenous Notions of Ownership and Libraries, Archives and Museums

Edited by Camille Callison, Loriene Roy and Gretchen Alice LeCheminant

DE GRUYTER SAUR

ISBN 978-3-11-036299-2 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-036323-4 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-039586-0 ISSN 0344-6891 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress. Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data is available on the internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2016 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Cover Image: © Della Nohl Typesetting: Dr Rainer Ostermann, München Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck ♾ Printed on acid-free paper Printed in Germany www.degruyter.com

Contents About IFLA

Contents

 IX

Acknowledgement Preface

 XI

 1

Part One: Notions of Traditional Knowledge 1

Loriene Roy Who is Indigenous?

 7

Wendy M.K. Peters 2 The Embodied Library The Culmination of All Who Came Before

 25

3

Darren Courchene Anishinaabe Dibendaagoziwin (Ownership) and Ganawenindiwin (Protection)  40

4

Anahera Morehu How to Integrate Mātauranga Māori into a Colonial Viewpoint

 57

Part Two: Notions of Ownership 5

Gregory Younging The Traditional Knowledge – Intellectual Property Interface

 67

Jonathan A. Franklin 6 Traditional Cultural Expressions and Cultural Institutions A Way Forward  75 7

Brigitte Vézina Cultural Institutions and the Documentation of Indigenous Cultural Heritage Intellectual Property Issues  89

VI 

 Contents

Spencer C. Lilley 8  Ko Aotearoa Tenei: Indigenous Cultural and Intellectual Property Rights in Aotearoa New Zealand  107 Heidi S. McCann, Peter L. Pulsifer and Carolina Behe 9 Sharing and Preserving Indigenous Knowledge of the Arctic Using Information and Communications Technology Challenges, Opportunities, and the Way Forward  126 Elias Tzoc 10 Mayan Languages in the Digital Age Opportunities and Challenges  145 Loriene Roy and Ciaran B. Trace 11 Preparing Entry-level Information Professionals for Work with and for Indigenous Peoples  157

Part Three: Notions of Libraries, Archives, and Museums Tyson S. Rinio 12 Cultural Relevance in Tribal Libraries

 181

Alyce Sadongei and Jill M. Norwood 13 Inspired by Land and Spirit Tribal Museums and Cultural Practice

 194

Jameson C. Brant 14 Establishing Aboriginal Presence in the Museum Sector

 210

Emily Grafton and Julia Peristerakis 15 Decolonizing Museological Practices at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights  229 Raegan Swanson and Jordan Graham 16 Aanischaaukamikw A Cree Elders’ Vision Expressed Through a Community Institute

 244



Contents 

Kauwela Valeho-Novikoff 17 Nā Kahu ‘Ike Hawaiʻi Stewards of Hawaiian Knowledge

 257



Collence Takaingenhamo Chisita, Alexander M. Rusero and Munyaradzi Shoko 18 Leveraging Memory Institutions to Preserve Indigenous Knowledge in the Knowledge Age Case of Zimbabwe  273 Cristina B. Villanueva 19 The University of the Philippines Baguio Cordillera Studies Collection Library and UP Baguio Cordillera/Northern Luzon Historical Archives in the Dissemination of Indigenous Knowledge for Indigenous Peoples The Northern Philippines Experience  286 Sophy Shu-Jiun Chen 20 A Holistic Perspective on Indigenous Digital Libraries in Taiwan

 311

Indri Pasaribu 21 Indigenous Digital Oral History An Overview  325 Hartwell Francis, Tanya E. Clement, Gena Peone, Brian Carpenter and Kristen Suagee-Beauduy 22 Accessing Sound at Libraries, Archives, and Museums  344

Author Biographies

 369

 VII

About IFLA www.ifla.org IFLA (The International Federation of Library Associations and Institutions) is the leading international body representing the interests of library and information services and their users. It is the global voice of the library and information profession. IFLA provides information specialists throughout the world with a forum for exchanging ideas and promoting international cooperation, research, and development in all fields of library activity and information service. IFLA is one of the means through which libraries, information centres, and information professionals worldwide can formulate their goals, exert their influence as a group, protect their interests, and find solutions to global problems. IFLA’s aims, objectives, and professional programme can only be fulfilled with the co-operation and active involvement of its members and affiliates. Currently, approximately 1,600 associations, institutions and individuals, from widely divergent cultural backgrounds, are working together to further the goals of the Federation and to promote librarianship on a global level. Through its formal membership, IFLA directly or indirectly represents some 500,000 library and information professionals worldwide. IFLA pursues its aims through a variety of channels, including the publication of a major journal, as well as guidelines, reports and monographs on a wide range of topics. IFLA organizes workshops and seminars around the world to enhance professional practice and increase awareness of the growing importance of libraries in the digital age. All this is done in collaboration with a number of other non-governmental organizations, funding bodies and international agencies such as UNESCO and WIPO. IFLANET, the Federation’s website, is a prime source of information about IFLA, its policies and activities: www.ifla.org. Library and information professionals gather annually at the IFLA World Library and Information Congress, held in August each year in cities around the world. IFLA was founded in Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1927 at an international conference of national library directors. IFLA was registered in the Netherlands in 1971. The Koninklijke Bibliotheek (Royal Library), the national library of the Netherlands, in The Hague, generously provides the facilities for our headquarters. Regional offices are located in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil; Pretoria, South Africa; and Singapore.

Acknowledgements Chi Megwitch and Meduh (in Objibwe and Tahltan respectively), thank you, to the authors who provided their chapters. We are grateful to their thoughts and expressions that have made this book a unique contribution to the ongoing discussion of ownership of indigenous cultural expressions within the institutions we know as libraries, archives and museums. We thank each other for dedicating months of effort, and commitment in responding to IFLA’s request for a book on this topic. Few efforts are completed by oneself and we could not have produced this work without our continual collaboration. We appreciate the patience and advice of Michael Heaney, our Editor. Finally, we thank the many people who reside in our immediate circles, our families, tribal communities, friends, and colleagues, who continue to guide our hearts toward the balance we all seek. Loriene Roy Gretchen Alice LeCheminant Camille Callison

Preface

Preface

The chapters in this book help make explicit the way that indigenous knowledges and cultural expressions include but are not limited to tangible and intangible expressions including oral traditions, songs, dance, storytelling, anecdotes, place names, and hereditary names. These and other forms of indigenous knowledges may be found in libraries, museums, or archives often in formats and interpretations written by anthropologists or historians. In many cases, when results of research and writing are published the author holds the legal copyright to that knowledge or cultural expression. This is contrary to indigenous notions of copyright. Parallel to Western culture, indigenous peoples regarded unauthorized use of their cultural expressions as theft. Only in the proper cultural context with ownership from the originating people can the true expression of that cultural expression be found. Articles written by experts in indigenous knowledge protection convey to readers the dynamic quality of indigenous knowledge that is sustained, transformed, and continues to remain dynamic producing new knowledge in new media such as modern forms of music, theatre and dance interpretations, film, poetry, literary expression, language applications, blogs, Facebook, digital collections contained in libraries, and archives is deserving of respect, understanding and indeed protection. We invite readers to begin to understand – or extend their understanding – that traditional knowledges are to be held in high regard. Part of the indigenous notions of copyright and patent is that understanding and preservation of ways of knowing can only truly be upheld with the ultimate aim to transfer the knowledges to the next generation in the proper cultural context. Topics discussed in these chapters assist in answering questions such as: –– What do “indigenous knowledge and cultural expressions” mean to a community? –– What do “indigenous knowledge and cultural expressions” mean to libraries? –– What do “indigenous knowledge and cultural expressions” mean to archives? –– What do “indigenous knowledge and cultural expressions” mean to museums? –– What is the intersection between UNESCO conventions and indigenous knowledge and cultural expressions? –– What is the “indigenous notion of copyright”? –– How might the education of librarians, archivists, and museum professionals protect and preserve indigenous knowledge and cultural expressions? Chapters are gathered into three sections.

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Notions of Traditional Knowledge Three chapters are included in this first section, beginning with a chapter by Roy that addresses the concept of indigenous identity. She addresses preconceptions and misconceptions about indigeneity, including the motivations behind the desire to define indigenous people and responses to commonly posed questions such as “Are there any indigenous people?” and “Isn’t everyone indigenous?” In her chapter, Peters describes how an indigenous person embodies a library through serving as the living embodiment of his or her culture. Courchene’s is the first chapter to introduce legal issues as he introduces Anishinaabe oral history as a source for understanding dibendaagoziwin (ownership) and ganawenindiwin (protection).

Notions of Ownership Chapters in the second section provide more in-depth content on the concepts of ownership. Franklin’s and Vezina’s chapters discuss the limits of copyright law in providing protection of traditional knowledge. Lilley focuses the discussion on intellectual property rights on New Zealand law and policy. McCann, Pulsifer, and Behe present the policies and practices employed in the Exchange for Local Observations and Knowledge of the Arctic (ELOKA) project in documenting indigenous knowledge of indigenous peoples in the Arctic. Tzoc provides descriptions of efforts at documenting and preserving Mayan languages. Roy and Trace summarize the results of their study on awareness of indigenous matters among faculty and students preparing for careers in libraries or archives.

Notions of Libraries, Archives, and Museums Finally, the chapters in section three provide cases of how libraries, museums, and archives around the world house, protect, and work with their indigenous peoples on providing access to indigenous knowledge. Rinio describes the role of the library in stepping away from Western practices to develop their own approaches to serving tribal community members. Sadongei and Norwood provide examples of how museums in the United States can serve in similar roles. Brant extends this discussion to include museums in Canada while two other chapters present details on specific cases in Canada: Grafton and Peristerakis provide the case of the Canadian Museum for Human Rights and Swanson and Graham intro-



Preface 

 3

duce the Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute. Authors of other chapters in this section expand the discussion to Hawaiʻi (Valeho-Novikoff), Zimbabwe (Chisita, Rusero, and Shoko), the Philippines (Villanueva), and Taiwan (Chen). The final two chapters introduce tools to assist in documenting and preserving indigenous culture, including digital storytelling (Psaribu) and accessing sound files (Francis, Clement, Peone, Carpenter, and Suagee-Beauduy). As we edited these contributions, we received the news that that the IFLA Special Interest Group on Indigenous Matters would be reformed as an IFLA Section on Indigenous Matters. IFLA’s interest in supporting this book and the support of IFLA members to support this new Section is evidence of the continuing interest in how libraries, archives, and museums may support indigenous ways of knowing. We look forward to this continuing conversation.

Part One: Notions of Traditional Knowledge

Loriene Roy

1 Who is Indigenous? General Introduction One of the most basic and persistent questions that arises when discussing services for indigenous peoples is, “Who is indigenous”? Like indigenous peoples themselves, the full cultural, historical, and contemporary significance of this question is generally avoided, overlooked, and undervalued. Those asking this question tend not to be indigenous and seem to seek simple, ready answers that they believe to be universally held by native peoples. Such individuals often desire a solid, easy answer that settles the question for all time. In a publication such as this, the question is no doubt circling within the background thoughts of most readers and, thus, should be addressed. Fortunately, this query has begun to be more scrupulously examined in recent library and information science (LIS) literature as more publications emerge that discuss a variety of aspects surrounding services for and with native peoples, from planning programmes to understanding traditional cultural knowledge.1 As is apparent through such writing, this seemingly innocuous question regarding who qualifies as indigenous is not neutral, nor is the answer straightforward. Discussions on defining indigenous identity can explore the topic from a number of perspectives including “as a racial category, as a product of identity legislation, as the identity of a single and distinct community, or as an identity claimed by many communities” (Bidwell 2014, 118). The convoluted pathway to seeking a definition for indigeneity speaks to the term’s “ambiguous and dynamic nature” and illustrates that people from many backgrounds and disciplinary perspectives have opinions on the matter (Harmon 1998, xi). For example, in writing about American Indians or indigenous peoples of North America, Leuthold (1998, 64) explains that indigenous identities have resulted from “(1) differences in the organization of Indian groups before their contact with Europeans; (2) various types of interaction with whites after contact and conquest; and (3) more recent developments such as pan-Indianism and urban migration”. Thus, he ties the discussions to historical events and the politics of identity. At different points in history, native identity has been based on “descent, residence, culture, social ties, or combinations of such criteria” (Harmon 1998, 1 See publications such as Roy (2009) and Roy and Hogan (2010). This article is a revised version of the piece published in Focus in International Library and Information Work, published with permission of the editor, that appeared in an expanded version in Roy and Frydman (2013).

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246). Depending on the questioner and his or her motivation, the query of “Who is indigenous?” can therefore be answered both truthfully and with an incredible degree of variation. In contrast to the predominant Western influence on indigenous affiliation, the United Nations’ definition of indigenous peoples points to an enduring and distinctive community identity (Martinez Cobo 1987, 379): Indigenous communities, peoples and nations are those which, having a historical continuity with pre-invasion and pre-colonial societies that developed on their territories, consider themselves distinct from other sectors of the societies now prevailing in those territories, or parts of them. They form at present non-dominant sectors of society and are determined to preserve, develop and transmit to future generations their ancestral territories, and their ethnic identity, as the basis of their continued existence as peoples, in accordance with their own cultural patterns, social institutions and legal systems.

Although each individual answer has its limitations when determining what factors determine indigeneity, together these answers can shed light on this complex, yet essential, issue. In everyday life, individual indigenous people are often asked to identify themselves. Sometimes this is part of tribal protocol at gatherings of other native people. Sometimes this takes place at other work-related settings or social settings where “Who are your people?” is a probing opening point. When protocol calls on native people to announce their affiliation, this action is taken as part of an exchange where the underlying motive is to welcome, recognize, and accept. The motives vary in other settings from general audience members wondering about a person’s authority to curiosity. To illustrate, let me reflect on familiar self-introductions. Like many native people, I prefer to be recognized as a member of my specific tribal nation. If I were asked to introduce myself in a gathering of indigenous peoples, I would identify myself as Anishinabe, a member of the Minnesota Chippewa tribe, enrolled on the White Earth Reservation. Through our father, we are likely members of the Bear Clan. I would further explain that my father was Mississippi Band and that my mother is Pembina Band and, if needed, I would provide their names. This introduction would serve not only to identify myself in the lineage of my people, but would also respect and honour those whose connections led me to my life and survivance. Such an introduction is not only genealogical; it is also spiritual in nature, as it not only pronounces my blood lines, but also connects me to the beliefs of my Anishinabeg people. Still, I often need a shortened introduction, one that serves in academic settings and briefly acknowledges my ethnicity and worldview. In this chapter I use the terms “indigenous peoples” and “native peoples” to refer to the first or original people of the land, for the sake of brevity and direct-



1 Who is Indigenous? 

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ness. I respectfully acknowledge that some individuals may consider the words “indigenous” and/or “native” to be pejorative and reflective of colonizing attitudes, but I maintain that this essay intends to utilize these terms for identifying purposes only, without conveying the words’ potential negative implications.

Indigenous People Know Who They Are: Contextualizing LIS Scholarship and Service for this Community For those new to the debate over “Who is indigenous?”, the answer is simply that tribal communities determine who their members are. Within this line of reasoning, indigenous people are defined, identified, and accepted by indigenous communities. As explained by Batalla in speaking of indigenous peoples of Mexico: “Each group establishes the limits and the norms. There are ways to join and ways to be accepted. There are also ways of losing one’s membership” (Batalla 1996, 21). This explanation of indigeneity is built on the recognition and understanding of the particular “origins, continuity, [and] distinctiveness” of Native communities where each “had particular resources, particular ancestors and histories, unique ways of doing things, and special partnerships with beings who had power to ensure their health and prosperity” (Harmon 1998, 3, 11). This answer becomes more complex with the dispersal of tribal members over time, intermarriage, birth of new descendants, and disenrollment policies or actions. Disenrolment, or removing a person’s tribal affiliation, has taken place in the United States increasingly since the 1990s. It serves as a type of banishment and has been practised largely as a form of punishment in criminal justice decisions or to assert tribal membership in the sharing of economic profits, especially revenue from casinos and gaming operations (Wilkins 2010). Additionally, some readers may be familiar with the word “indigenous” but not with the many nuances involved in its understanding. The remainder of this chapter therefore examines the complex actions of defining “Who is indigenous?”. The process of considering and offering a definition underlies the foundation for discussing aspects of the stewardship of indigenous cultural knowledge and direct patron service by libraries, museums, and archives. Typically, in designing and launching services for a specific existing or potential library user community, librarians undertake a needs assessment. This is a process of conducting a literature search, gathering existing data through census data and other formal sources, and asking questions of the community. In many respects, this chapter illustrates the needs assessment for preparing to work with Native library clientele, without clipboard or probing survey instrument, but instead through understanding the history and values of the tribal community.

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Introduction of Preconceptions and Misconceptions about Indigeneity: Considering the Necessity to Define Indigenous People Pack provides a concise summary of the landscape concerning the question of “Who is indigenous?”: “After five centuries (and counting) of colonization, miscegenation and forced assimilation, the issue of cultural authenticity has become a hotly debated and polarizing matter for everybody involved – everybody that is, except for Indians themselves, for whom the notion of an authentic cultural identity has always been very clearly defined” (Pack 2012, 176). Although those who are indigenous may not expend a great deal of effort in seeking a universal definition of indigenous identity, having a concrete designation for the term is often of great concern to those who are not indigenous, especially those who live in proximity to tribal nations. This necessity for a clear-cut means of identifying indigeneity is likely based on a desire to create a taxonomy of cultures that illustrates interconnections – much like branches of language or family trees. For many native peoples, the act of defining replicates a colonial attitude of itemization and may be felt to diminish tribal knowledge and acknowledgment, thus serving to objectify native peoples themselves. Such definition incorporates an element of competition, emphasises insider-outsider status, and recalls metaphors of evolution in which people have progressed linearly from early humans to today’s royalty and élites. Strictly defining indigenous peoples can therefore be perceived as challenging their self-constructed or community-affiliated identities and as perpetuating the tiresome nomenclature of classifying indigenous people as “the other”. This act of defining can also be utilized as an academic tool, thereby providing the research community with the power to ascertain who belongs to a tribal nation and who does not. Forbes describes this process as the means by which some researchers are able to circumvent ethical practices: by contriving the definition of native peoples’ identity, and then creating “stumbling blocks” within the perimeters of this definition, researchers ensure “(1) that the oppressed frequently do not have access to their own written records and do not know all of the details of their own history; (2) that the oppressed frequently are forced to accept the categories and perspectives of the dominant elites; and (3) that academic specializations have often contributed to arbitrary and even colonially determined ways of dividing up reality” (Forbes 1990, 10). In these ways, defining in and of itself becomes a controlling act. LIS is not a field of nuance and, while broad in perspective, the tasks associated with organization are central to its professional practices. With its



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long-standing regard for the scientific method and its intellectualization of classification, LIS is certainly in danger of following a belief in defining peoples and then applying those labels to the organization of their tangible displays of knowledge. Other ethical foundations within the LIS professions may set the field and its practitioners apart from indigenous worldviews. For example, with their strong support of open access as an expression of intellectual freedom, LIS educators and practitioners often shy away from any proposal to restrict access to content – even if such access is considered taboo by tribal custom and breaks cultural protocols. For native peoples, permission to access cultural content may vary depending on season, gender, age, and authority assigned by affiliation within a subgroup, such as a clan. Within this worldview, limiting access is less of an obstruction to information access and more of an expression of traditional beliefs. In any case, such defining sets up a “binary coding of the world” into concepts such as “Christians-heathens, superman-subhuman, human-inhuman ... [which are] the central prerequisite for colonial rule” (Zimmerer 2007, 107). This typology “homogenizes the disparate group of rulers as well as the ruled, and at the same time creates a distance between the two groups, a distance that is necessary for colonial supremacy” (Zimmerer 2007, 107). These taxonomies thus foreshadow dangerous ulterior motives, as “such preparation was laid by early travelers, observers, ethnographers, and amateur anthropologists who provided ‘evidence’ for a classification of human groups and their subsequent subjection to a hierarchy of qualities” (Finzsch 2007, 7). Again, defining becomes a mechanism of control. As Holocaust scholar Koblik explained in 2010 on National Public Radio’s Weekend Edition regarding the physical transfer of the Nuremberg Laws, “If you’re going to really persecute a group of people, you need to define them” (NPR Staff 2011). In the case of indigenous peoples, this persecution has been supported by several particular preconceptions/misconceptions involved in defining “Who is indigenous?”

Preconception/Misconception One: Are There Any Indigenous People? It is unlikely that any readers of this text would believe that there are no indigenous peoples in contemporary society. Yet while this belief is certainly extreme, it is not an unheard-of point of view in contemporary American society – and possibly in other areas of the world. It is not uncommon to hear museum visitors

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remark in the United States that American Indian cultures are extinct and that only their cultural artifacts remain. This conception is incredibly problematic for several reasons; beyond rendering presently living indigenous peoples nonexistent, it also points to a subconscious desire for a homogenized population. In this context, homogeneity refers to the mid-twentieth-century philosophy that envisioned America and other colonized areas as melting-pot societies. Within the homogenized model, everyone’s lineage would ideally be assimilated or blended, and therefore no distinct indigenous peoples would survive. This school of thought advocated the integration of native peoples into the majority culture by means of intermarriage and indoctrination while depressing or eliminating tribal cultural expressions and beliefs. During the process of conforming to the beliefs and behaviours of a unified national identity, Native peoples would lose their cultural lifeways, including their language and religion. Accordingly, any cultural or racial allegiance would be secondary, nonexistent, or noted in a superficial way – for example, through communally observing designated holidays. Sanctioned celebrations like Thanksgiving may be described as honouring events, but they are largely interpreted and controlled through the media and are diluted in the educational systems through Western interpretations of historic events. What evidence do we have that the melting-pot society is not a reality? The first form of evidence is that today, within the United States alone, there are over 500 indigenous tribes recognized by the federal government. Tribes hold on to this recognition and tribes without federal recognition seek to attain it, often pursuing this status over many years. This number clearly indicates that native peoples still consider themselves to be distinct identities within the United States, while the International Workgroup for Indigenous Affairs has additionally identified some 200 million indigenous peoples around the globe (Molbech 2001). Secondly, these tribal nations have vastly different histories, languages, and lifeway practices. While there are common features across tribal nations, they themselves are not homogenized. Even the tribes within these tribal nations have not melted together; they are distinct. The sheer numbers alone and the acknowledgement of hundreds of tribes with varying histories, traditions, and practices, is evidence that the first peoples of the earth still remain.

Preconception/Misconception Two: Isn’t Everyone Indigenous? Equally as extreme as the idea that there are no indigenous people is the inverse belief that everyone is indigenous. Positioning themselves in the centre of the dis-



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course surrounding indigeneity, there are those who reach back into their genealogical history in order to find links to peoples with distinctive cultural expressions. A conceived or true genealogic connection to such cultural expressions, which might include language, clothing, dance, and celebration, are presented as evidence that the descendant – and therefore everyone else – is indigenous. This belief ascribes indigeneity only to genealogy, whereas “Indigenous generally refers to the first peoples and their culture of a given geographical area who have experiences with imperialism” (Harala et al. 2005, 68). Such individuals often even acknowledge the impact of imperialism through discussions of the need for and practice of decolonization in attitudes, beliefs, and, especially, research (Smith 1999). While this attitude may, on the surface, appear to be self-defining and celebratory, it emerges from a Western or European concept of élitism and a reluctance to give others ownership to what some might feel is a privileged status. It is also reflective of an aversion to consider the impact of past harms and is dismissive of historic trauma, since such individuals did not witness – or were not responsible for – such actions. Such thinking affords anyone to claim an indigenous past, yet does little to recognize that indigenous people are present, surviving, and, often, thriving. These believers are generally opposed to what they might perceive as special treatment afforded to indigenous peoples, whether that treatment is based on long-standing treaty agreements or on present-day legal settlements. Those who feel that they, too, are indigenous insist instead that everyone should be compensated based on their personal achievements or on direct inheritance, rather than on descendency through bloodlines or tribal membership and stemming from intergenerational trauma resulting from abuse or neglect. This rationale also correlates with the dismissal of historical wrongs. If everyone is indigenous, then what would prevent a universal washing of the hands – or a quick cleansing of the wrongs committed by their ancestors? Such a dismissal of wrongs is especially voiced when efforts are made to recognize historical events, such as on nineteenth-century battlegrounds where events are little known, took place in the past, and are not felt to impact contemporary life in non-native populations. Similarly, there is concern that contemporary native peoples will seek monetary or other compensation for historical treatment if their mistreatment is acknowledged and if formal apologies are made. If everyone is indigenous, then the playing field is even and each person alone is responsible for one’s life events and opportunities.

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Preconception/Misconception Three: Some People Just Wannabee (Want to Be) The mix of personages interested in indigenous peoples also includes the wannabee – a non-native person who is motivated or wants to be associated with a tribal community. This motivation might be attributed to a desire to connect with a romanticized past where a person can be “one with nature”. Wannabees might also attribute their physical features – such as high cheekbones – to an undocumented indigenous ancestry and thus, often unknowingly, affirm stereotypes of indigenous physicality. These individuals tend not to want to associate with the everyday difficulties of Indigenous life, and will instead cherry-pick romanticized attributes of indigeneity while choosing to shed their newfound identities at any time. Their indigenous affiliation is, therefore, situational; they can always return to a non-indigenous identity should their native affiliation feel uncomfortable or be unrewarding in some way. These are “Indians of convenience,” rather than “Indians who have been Indians all their lives” (Medicine 1988, 90). Furthermore, wannabees often have no contact with Native peoples, even with the tribes to which they claim affiliation. They eliminate any consideration of the reality of life as an indigenous person, especially the challenges that native peoples and other people of colour face. Their views of native life may be – in their view – positive and supportive, but are unrealistic and self-serving. Well-known Spokane/Coeur d’Alene writer Alexie once described the distinction between a wannabee and a true indigenous person saying, “I’ve always had a theory that you ain’t really Indian unless, at some point in your life, you didn’t want to be Indian” (Alexie 1995, 169). While Alexie’s comment is, in part, humorous, he also hints at cases of individuals renouncing or not acknowledging their Indigenous heritage. Batalla refers to historical events when native people were forced to denounce their cultural affiliation through what he termed de-Indianization: “a historical process through which populations that originally possessed a particular and distinctive identity, based upon their own culture, are forced to renounce that identity, with all the consequent changes in their social organization and culture” (Batalla 1996, 17). Native affiliation sometimes came at a huge expense and has been a decision made on the basis of survival, on accommodation, or for ease of mind. Batalla describes one impact of colonialism as the renunciation of native identity, during which “the colonized finally accepted internally the inferiority that the colonizers attributed to them, renounced their own identity, and assumed another and different one” (1996, 20). Such renunciation is difficult to reverse and the ensuing biases may take generations to absolve.



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The wannabee mentality is also sometimes extended beyond the point of admiration of native peoples to a desire to be native for its perceived benefits in cases of “ethnic fraud”. Grande defines this scenario (2000, 352): “Ethnic fraud is a term used to describe the phenomena of Whitestream [Caucasian] individuals who, in spite of growing up far removed from any discernible Indian community, decide to claim an Indian identity based on residuals of Indian blood in their distant ancestries.” Thus ethnic fraud refers to incidents when individuals falsely claim indigenous ancestry and tribal connections: they are not indigenous. Let me add that in some cases those residuals are mythic; I have often encountered people in academic settings who claim native heritage because of a family story of a long-ago female relative who was said to be Indian but never identified her tribe. Ethnic fraud is the acting-out of wannabees who, through such actions, give permission to non-natives to continually challenge the ethnicity of native peoples. Fryberg and Markus observe (2003, 326) that “having an American Indian identity is a two-fold process that requires self-identification and being identified by others”. The wannabee might have accomplished half of this process: he or she might claim indigenous identity and he or she might have convinced nonindigenous people that this claim is true. They are not likely, though, to have the tribal community connection and, over time, the connections they have manufactured are revealed as untrue. These preconceptions/misconceptions – that no indigenous people exist, that everyone is indigenous, and that one can be indigenous if they desire to be – all illustrate opinions by non-native people on who is indigenous. The following section examines more formal processes of defining indigeneity, starting with a discussion of the indigenous peoples as defined by the deepest aspect of their physical beings: their blood.

Systematized Methods of Determining Indigeneity: Blood Quantum These preconceptions/misconceptions have shaped not only the rationale behind defining “Who is indigenous?”, but also the instantiation of that definition. In addition to academic or popular definitions, another noteworthy definition of indigeneity can be found in federal governments’ standards for recognizing or legislating indigeneity. In some areas of the world, indigenous affiliation is determined by percentage of indigenous blood, also referred to as the “blood quantum”. For legal and governance purposes, the US federal government pushed

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tribes in the United States to adopt the blood quantum enrolment for membership requirements in the late nineteenth century (National Museum of the American Indian 2007, 8). Tribal membership rosters or rolls were consequently taken; such designation required genealogical or blood descendancy percentages, resulting in mandates that tribal members needed, typically, to be one-fourth blood. Unfortunately, a number of these tribal membership rosters or rolls were corrupt or otherwise flawed. Even with a genealogical/blood connection, an individual – who might have been adopted by or married to a non-tribal person, for instance – would not necessarily be considered indigenous if he or she was not formally recognized by the desired tribal communities and would, therefore, be excluded from their blood communities. Chang reminds us (2006, 87–88) that indigenous peoples’ interpretation of blood quantum also addressed cultural connectiveness: “The term ‘full blood’ is better understood as a marker of cultural and political orientation than of biological heritage and points to the ways that nationhood was marked by race. In short, ‘full blood’ described a person’s beliefs more than her ‘blood’.” Blood quantum in these respects took on a tribal interpretation or shorthand, indicating the degree to which an individual supported or did not support tribal worldviews. Subsequently, meeting requirements for tribal membership came to involve alternate criteria: through proven connection to ancestors listed on treaty documents through “lineal descent ... residence on tribal lands, knowledge of tribal language and culture, or membership in a recognized clan”, and through the continued active affiliation with the tribal community (Siek 2012, §13). All of these formulas were efforts to define some notion of authenticity by non-tribal members, creating an insider/outsider dichotomy within the tribal communities themselves. Grande describes (2000, 347) “the notion of the ‘authentic’ Indian” as “a myth constructed and perpetuated by Whitestream America” wherein “the prevailing notion of the essential or authentic American Indian [is] as a pureblood pedigreed individual raised in a reservation community”. We could add that this authentic indigenous person would also speak his/her language, wear traditional clothing, and have a physical appearance that satisfies the popular media imagery of native heritage. This set of requisites is by no means all-inclusive and might very well be modified again. The variance among tribal nations, tribes, and Indigenous individuals indicates that “even if non-Indians had consistently advanced a single idea of what it meant to be Indian, they would have gotten a wide variety of responses from native people and their progeny” (Harmon 1998, 152). Consideration of blood quantum at least opens discussions about mixed-blood heritage, thus allowing people to consider that, even if they are indigenous, they may be members of more than one tribe or have genealogical connections to non-native ancestors.



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For some, blood quantum is restrictive; for others it is too liberal. Again, it is often therefore best to let communities define tribal membership.

Linking the Various Definitions of Indigeneity In regard to the act of attempting to define indigeneity, my identification of extremes – at one side of the spectrum, the belief that indigenous peoples no longer exist, and at the other, the belief that everyone is indigenous – should allow readers to begin acknowledging and challenging their own perspectives. Hopefully, such acknowledgement will prove to be a step toward being more receptive to and interested in how Indigenous peoples view themselves. Regardless of the rationale for examining definitions, it is worthwhile to recognize that “Indian people are burdened with defending their identity more often and more extensively than any other ethnic group in America” (Maynor 2008, 85). Often the focus of researchers, indigenous peoples find themselves simultaneously studied and categorized in academia and constrained by federal government mandates. Yet, “when indicating the paths that Indians should take, non-Indian fingers have pointed in different directions. It is no wonder that there have been so many ways to be Indian” (Harmon 1998, 12). The next section, then, presents background on how Indigenous people regard themselves, adding the perspectives of both the Indigenous information professionals working within libraries/ archives/museums and the patrons these institutions serve.

Native Views of Tribal Identity through Genealogy and Land Connections It is likely that there was once a period in history when “knowledge of one’s ancestors and allegiance to one’s home place suffice[d] to make an individual as an Indian” (Maynor 2008, 62). As tribal communities, especially those in the United States, reorganized their governance under pressure to match those of Western models, they have more often than not assimilated non-traditional requirements sanctioned by these federal governments into their assessments of membership. Native identity today is thus tied to multiple factors, and it is evident that indigenous peoples’ “sense of themselves as Indians is the product of a kind of layering process” that developed over time (Maynor 2008, 61). These complex, imposed criteria/definitions have harmed indigenous communities, as using numerous

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criteria can produce negative results: “Mixing such elements as kinship, lineage, property law, social relations, and residence ... [means that] in the years to come [these definitions] would offer some people welcome shelter, trap others against their will, and shut out still others who wanted in” (Harmon 1998, 159). Until this point, much of my discussion of indigenous affiliation has reflected the views of outsiders. This section offers a more accurate representation of indigeneity within LIS scholarship and practice by asking how have indigenous librarians answered the question, “Who is indigenous?” The answer is, when considering issues of LIS scholarship and direct work with and for indigenous peoples, it is essential to acknowledge the degree to which Native people acknowledge and honour their genealogies and associate with their homeland areas. Indigenous peoples are connected to a landscape or cultural territory such that “group and territory – a defined group and a specific territory – form an inseparable unit in Indian culture” (Batalla 1996, 34). This rootedness may be illustrated through bloodlines or genealogies. For example, in the Huichol people of Mexico, “the extended family household (kie) is its basic unit because it is where people root their broader relationships to the environment” (Liffman 2011, 61). In addition to sustaining a relationship to one’s homeland, maintaining knowledge of one’s bloodlines is crucial to many indigenous peoples. Genealogy is considered by native peoples not as a tool to determine blood quantum, but rather as the connection to life, as is evident in this self-introduction (Shorty 2008, 123): My name is Lawrence Shorty. I am Nashaashe born for the Mississippi Choctaw people.My maternal grandfather is Táachíni I, and my paternal grandfather is Mississippi Choctaw. These things are what make me a man.

Such self-introductions are therefore an important part of tribal protocol. Protocol is a type of family tradition that indicates ancestry. Connection to the land is frequently implicated in native protocol or etiquette; in many parts of the world, Indigenous people introduce themselves by the landmarks that demarcate their homelands: This is the mountain, river, rock near where I was born. The land, likewise, grounds indigenous peoples in their genealogy. Some indigenous people may, for example, know where their umbilical cord is buried and this may also be the land where their bodies will return after death. In fact, in te reo, the Māori language, whenua (“land”), also means “placenta”. Certainly, indigenous peoples assign extreme significance to ancestry and home place – to the extent that these descriptors tend to play a key part in introductions among other native peoples, as I illustrated earlier in this chapter. They see themselves through their links to family; their tribal genealogies recount their



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connections both to ancestors and to their own futures. It is in introductions to non-indigenous communities, especially among federal governmental representatives, that layering in other descriptors and criteria becomes obligatory. Such introductions also enable indigenous peoples to orally proclaim their genealogies, in some way subverting the Western requirements with an indigenous stamp. In 1999, Te Rōpū Whakahau (Māori in Libraries and Information Workers), the organizers of the first International Indigenous Librarians Forum (IILF), defined indigenous peoples as “those who have become minority peoples in their places of cultural origin” (Makoare and Szekely 1999, 8). Over time, this statement has been perceived as a working definition due to several problematic components: it does not acknowledge indigenous peoples who are a majority in their lands, or those who have moved away from homeland areas over time and through generations. This working definition’s strength lies in the fact that it recognizes the unique relationship that original people have to the land. Liffman notes (2011, 111) that the Huichol people of Mexico base their land claims on three types of documented traditions: “traditional subsistence activities, social organization, and ceremonial practice”. This is also seen in other attempts to offer definitions: “We define ‘American Indians’ and Canadian ‘First Nations’ as those who claim first habitation of specific lands. This is a claim based on the (his)stories of peoples tied to specific places whose essential natures represent their presence in the land” (Calhoun 2003, 149). Māori, for example, use the phrase tangata whenua (“people of the land”). Rewi outlines (2010, 38) the following criteria to keep in mind when considering whether someone is tangata whenua: –– they have sovereign occupation in the area; –– they have long-term residency, whether by means of first discovery, occupancy, force, purchase, cession, or by gift; –– they have tribal affiliation to the land; –– they have governance over the land, regardless of the duration of their occupation. In line with these criteria, Trask observes that “Indigenous peoples are defined in terms of collective aboriginal occupation prior to colonial settlement” (Trask 1999, 33). In other words, native Hawaiians of today are “the contemporary remnant of the original people inhabiting the Islands” (Clark 2008, 45). Trask additionally points to an important difference between indigenous history and settler history: whereas settlers can claim voluntary relocation to lands where their descendants now claim a legal inheritance, indigenous peoples have an involuntary status, in that their physical lives on homeland areas are tied to emergence or other creation stories. Accordingly, indigenous peoples’ formal

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nationalities were imposed upon them by outside governments. Unlike the settlers of Hawaiʻi (haole, Asians, and others) who voluntarily gave up the nationality of their homelands when they became permanent residents of Hawaiʻi, Hawaiians had their nationality forcibly changed within their own homeland (Trask 1999, 30). Based on this understanding of nationality, Forbes also presents a clear rationale for the discord between Indigenous peoples and settlers of Hawaiʻi : “colonial settlers could not truly become ‘natives’ until the real natives were gone. Their continued existence as a separate population is a constant reminder of the foreignness of the white minority or majority, as the case may be” (Forbes 1990, 28). This phenomenon also supplies an economic basis – the desire for the land and geographic resources attributed to indigenous peoples – for actions taken where “by and large, racism and colonialism have sought to make Native Americans ‘vanish,’ in some cases directly (through ethnocide and genocide) and in some cases indirectly (through intermarriage and ‘benign’ culture change)” (Forbes 1990, 27). Despite many such shared experiences, affiliation with one area does not reflect the histories of all native peoples, and “many Indian communities are more accurately characterized by geographic movement (rather than attachment to one specific place)” (Maynor 2008, 85). Some non-indigenous writers argue against the settler/indigenous dichotomy, seeking and citing evidence that native people also relocated in some documented or distant past. This argument is similar to the belief that everyone is indigenous in that there is no difference between indigenous movement to lands centuries ago and more contemporary land-grabs and acquisitions by non-indigenous settlers. The history of native peoples’ emergence from the earth of their homelands or of their migration is not often taken as valid evidence by such writers, as these records are handed down through oral tradition and do not usually have material documentation. In many societies, family traditions constitute “the only evidence of ancestry available (since even recent colonial or governmental records such as birth certificates, census reports, and marriage licenses usually use arbitrary racial categories imposed by a white official or by white prejudice),” and, moreover, “the family mythic tradition has a cultural-social reality which, often, renders it ‘a social fact’” (Forbes 1990, 38). Thus, defining one’s native identity is tied to a land connection whether or not a native person currently lives on a homeland area, as these connections are made through family connections and stories of origin.



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How Can LIS Better Approach Indigenous People’s Needs and Indigeneity? This discussion of Native peoples’ views of themselves crucially places Indigenous peoples more centrally in the ongoing discussion of “Who is indigenous?”. Yet my examination of this one question brings up important additional questions that might be explored within LIS specifically, such as: –– How has thinking within the field concerning who is indigenous changed since the working definition was drafted for the first IILF in 1999? –– How have the definitions/discussions provided by native librarians affected the LIS field? –– How might an understanding of who is Indigenous be beneficial to LIS practice and scholarship? Brief responses to these questions illustrate how the nature of indigenous LIS staff and their patrons is an evolving area of understanding: discussions and efforts continue, but much remains to be done. First, how has thinking about who is indigenous changed within LIS? How has thinking within the field concerning who is indigenous changed since the working definition was drafted for the first IILF in 1999? The concept of indigenous identity is critical to the planning and resulting outcomes of each IILF. IILF continues to meet every other year, rotating among locations in Aotearoa/New Zealand, Australia, Canada, Norway, Sweden, or the United States. Each host site determines how delegates are selected for presentation and attendance. Indigenous librarians are recognized according to their self-identity and through informal verification by the host indigenous library association. While the Forums acknowledge the many achievements and assistance to libraries by non-indigenous information professionals, efforts are made to restrict some features of the Forums to Indigenous librarians only. The rationale for assigning leadership roles to the indigenous delegates is to avoid the repetition of undesirable past actions when non-indigenous academics have come in contact with Indigenous cultural knowledge. The Forum structure is intended to eliminate the possibility of non-indigenous representatives monopolizing deliberations or otherwise placing their needs above those of the native delegates. One result of each Forum is the announcement of some tangible outcome, whether it is a mission statement, objectives, or action plan. Each of these statements are described as created and supported by indigenous librarians. While this process sounds simple on the surface, it is in fact complex and is a unique experience for many delegates; even the indigenous delegates might have never before attended an indigenous-only

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event. Some LIS workers may feel that this process is exclusionary, or even racist in approach. Thus, while the IILF working definition for who is indigenous has not been revised formally since 1999, the nature of indigenous identity permeates the IILF gatherings and remains simultaneously somewhat fluid but also understood. Second, have the discussions on who is indigenous and information services for Indigenous peoples impacted LIS? There are active professional organizations devoted to indigenous issues at the state, national, and international levels. These include special sections or round tables within selected state library associations. There are also indigenous-focused national organizations, such as the American Indian Library Association in the United States, the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Library and Information Resource Network (ATSILIRN) in Australia, and Te Rōpū Whakahau in Aotearoa/New Zealand. At the international level is the Indigenous Issues Special Interest Group within the International Federation of Library Associations and Institutions. The presence of these organizations might be seen at conference meetings and programmes, and in the development of association-authored documents or statements. The level of participation with these groups remains stable but relatively small, and their existence is likely unknown to information professionals who do not work directly with indigenous patrons. Finally, will this discussion benefit LIS practice and research? Perhaps the greatest potential for expanding the audience of those interested in the topic of Indigenous LIS services lies with the faculty and students within LIS education programmes. Although the concept of Indigenous knowledge is complex, it is those who are new to the field who are most likely to make changes throughout their careers to how the profession creates services with and for indigenous clients. Moreover, efforts to recruit indigenous students into LIS programmes is not only slowly increasing the number of Native information professionals but also, through their presence within their programmes of study, they are impacting the other students with whom they are in contact. While answers to these other questions about indigeneity might not be easily found, at least the next generation of information professionals might be able to better articulate such issues and be more open to discussion.

Conclusion The act of defining indigeneity extends across centuries of colonialism. Good Fox summarized the role of the tribe in determining membership saying, “Fundamentally, it’s the tribe’s right to determine who its citizens are and are not” (Siek 2012, §2). In distinguishing between tribal enrolment and genealogy, Good Fox



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also notes that “anyone can claim ancestry, but those who do can’t always claim citizenship” (Siek 2012, §3), while Pack reminds us (2012, 182) that “after all the controversy surrounding blood quotas, scientific tests, and census data, the most reliable means of determining what make an Indian is also the most simple: ask Indians themselves”. In many ways, the “Indigenous people know who they are” approach comes closer to answering the question of indigeneity than almost any other. That said, it could be slightly improved, to read: “Indigenous communities know who their people are”.

References Alexie, Sherman. 1995. Reservation Blues. New York: Atlantic Monthly Press. Batalla, Guillermo Bonfil. 1996. Mexico Profundo: Reclaiming a Civilization. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Bidwell, Kristina Fagan. 2014. “Metis Identity and Literature.” In The Oxford Handbook of Indigenous American Literature, edited by James H. Cox and Daniel Heath Justice, 118–136. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Calhoun, J. Anne. 2003. “‘It’s Just a Social Obligation. You Could Say ‘No’!: Cultural and Religious Barriers of American Indian Faculty in the Academy.” American Indian Quarterly 27(1/2): 132–154. Chang, David A. Y. O. 2006. “Where will the Nation be at Home? Race, Nationalism, and Emigration Movements in the Creek Nation.” In Crossing Waters, Crossing Worlds: The African Diaspora in Indian Country, edited by Miles Tiya and Sharron P. Holland, 80–99. Durham, NC: University of Duke Press. Clark, Kauila. 2008. “Pondering Sovereignty for Native Hawaiians.” In Foundations of First Peoples’ Sovereignty: History, Education & Culture, edited by Ulrike Wiethaus, 43–55. New York: Peter Lang. Finzsch, Norbert. 2007. “‘It is Scarcely Possible to Conceive that Human Beings Could be so Hideous and Loathsome’: Discourses of Genocide in Eighteenth- and Nineteenth-Century America and Australia.” In Colonialism and Geonocide, edited by A. Dirk Moses and Dan Stone, 1–19. London; New York: Routledge. Forbes, Jack D. 1990. “The Manipulation of Race, Caste and Identity: Classifying Afroamericans, Native Americans and Red-Black People.” Journal of Ethnic Studies 17(4): 1–51. Fryberg, Stephanie A., and Hazel Rose Markus. 2003. “On Being American Indian: Current and Possible Selves.” Self and Identity 2: 325–344. Grande, Sandy. 2000. “American Indian Identity and Intellectualism: The Quest for a New Red Pedagogy.” International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education 13(4): 343–359. Harala, Kindi, Chery Smith, Craig Hassel, and Patricia Gailfus. 2005. “New Moccasins: Articulating Research Approaches through Interviews with Faculty and Staff at Native and Non-Native Academic Institutions.” Journal of Nutrition Education and Behavior 38(2): 67–76. Harmon, Alexandra. 1998. Indians in the Making: Ethnic Relations and Indian Identities AroundPuget Sound. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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Leuthold, Steven. 1998. Indigenous Aesthetics: Native Art, Media, and Identity. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Liffman, Paul M. 2011. Huichol Territory and the Mexican Nation: Indigenous Ritual, Land Conflict, and Sovereignty Claims. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Makoare, Bernard, and Chris Szekely. 1999. International Indigenous Librarians’ Forum 1999. [Preliminary Programme.] Auckland, New Zealand: National Library of New Zealand. Martinez Cobo, Jose. 1987. Study of the Problem of Discrimination Against Indigenous Populations. Geneva: United Nations. Maynor, Malinda M. 2008. “Practicing Sovereignty: Lumbee Identity, Tribal Factionalism, and Federal Recognition, 1932–1934.” In Foundations of First Peoples’ Sovereignty: History,Education & Culture, edited by Ulrike Wiethaus, 57–95. New York: Peter Lang. Medicine, Beatrice. 1988. “Native American (Indian) Women: A Call for Research.” Anthropology & Education Quarterly 19(2): 86–92. Molbech, Anette, ed. 2001. The Indigenous World 2000–2001. Copenhagen: The International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs. National Museum of the American Indian. 2007. Do All Indians Live in Tipis? Questions and Answers from the National Museum of the American Indian. New York: Collins, 2007. NPR Staff. 2010. “Four Pages That Decreed Six Million Deaths.” Weekend Edition. http://www. npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyld=129492523. Accessed on 27 February 2011. Pack, Sam. 2012. “What is a Real Indian? The Interminable Debate of Cultural Authenticity.” AlterNative 8(2): 176–188. Rewi, Poia. 2010. Whaikōrero: The World of Māori Oratory. Auckland, New Zealand: Auckland University Press. Roy, Loriene. 2009. “Indigenous Matters in Library and Information Science: An Evolving Ecology.” In Focus in International Library and Information Work 40(2): 8–12. Roy, Loriene and Antonia Frydman. 2013. “Library Services to Indigenous Populations: Case Studies.” http://www.ifla.org/publications/library-services-to-Indigenous-populations-case-studies. Accessed on 8 June 2013. Roy, Loriene and Kristen Hogan. 2010. “We Collect, Organize, Preserve, and Provide Access, With Respect: Indigenous Peoples’ Cultural Life in Libraries.” In Beyond Article 19: Libraries and Social, and Cultural Rights, edited by Julie Biando Edwards and Stephan P. Edwards, 113–147. Duluth, MN: Library Juice. Shorty, Lawrence. 2008. “Reclaiming Health as an Act of Self-Determination: Tobacco Addiction Resistance.” In Foundations of First Peoples’ Sovereignty: History, Education & Culture, edited by Ulrike Wiethaus, 123–146. New York: Peter Lang. Siek, Stephanie. 2012. “Who’s a Native American? It’s Complicated.” http://inamerica.blogs.cnn. com/2012/05/14/whos-a-native-american-its-complicated/. Accessed on 27 May 2012. Smith, Linda Tuhiwai. 1999. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples. London; New York: Zed Books; Dunedin, New Zealand: University of Otago Press. Trask, Haunani-Kay. 1999. From a Native Daughter: Colonialism and Sovereignty in Hawaiʻi , 2nd edition. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press. Wilkins, David E. 2010. “Tribal Disenrollment: When Abuses in Power turn Self-Determination into Self-Destruction.” In The American Mosaic: The American Indian Experience. ABC-CLIO. http://americanindian.abc-clio.com/. Accessed on 22 January 2015. Zimmerer, Jurgen. 2007. “The Birth of the Ostland Out of the Spirit of Colonialism: A Postcolonial Perspective on the Nazi Policy of Conquest and Extermination.” In Colonialism and Genocide, edited by A. Dirk Moses and Dan Stone, 101–12. London; New York: Routledge.

Wendy M.K. Peters

2 The Embodied Library The Culmination of All Who Came Before As a Native Hawaiian person, I stand in the present moment and represent all of my forebears, each and every ancestor who came before me. Likewise, I will pass on to my progeny the sum total of all my ancestors’ knowledge and experiences, in addition to all of my own knowledge and lived experience. This bold claim may sound like a romantic line or notion from a popular movie, but it is indeed the very literal process of human development that indigenous peoples have always acknowledged and understood intimately. Alternately, this conceptualization of human development is something quite foreign to Western cultures that have historically tended to emphasise egocentrism and individualistic detachment. This chapter suggests that indigenous literature, in whatever form it may appear, is less about individualistic expression and more about how we as individuals embody, articulate, and share our respective cultures as part of a grand ontological continuum that has been propagated and transmitted across the ecologies of the mind. Supported by recent revelations in contemporary scientific understanding, I make the case that indigenous literature is reflective of the collective wisdom and memories of our ancestors and is representative of that combined consciousness from which it comes forth. How this transmission takes place, other than through direct oral tradition, is perhaps best explained via epigenetics and memetics. In short, ownership resides with origin. This chapter discusses the meaning of the embodied library based upon indigenous ways of knowing and cultural mores that have been ongoing for millennia. From the time of their very origins, indigenous peoples have continuously generated knowledge and transmitted it from one generation to the next, right up to the present day. In addition to the perpetuation of oral stories and expository teachings, the notion of an embodied library contends that much of indigenous knowledge is hereditary. This premise of heredity is predicated upon recent advances in genetic research that have brought about a new understanding of how we store, transmit, and express our lived experiences. In addition, further discussion is presented about how knowledge or experience that is shared among a group, community, or society, can also be passed on. The embodied library exists in contrast to the disembodied library which is knowledge or literature that is fabricated, external, and potentially artificial in contrast to indigenous epistemology. The embodied library describes what it means to approach the body as a living repository, a co-creative, epistemological process representative of one’s

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lived experiences, integrated with those things innately held within one’s hereditary legacy. The chapter concludes with reflections about the past, present, and potential future of the embodied library. Prior to proceeding, however, it should be noted that this discourse is not an attempt to define indigenous people. Nor do I claim an authoritative definition of indigenous knowledge. Rather, numerous interpretations on the matter undoubtedly exist and this statement merely recounts the stories, assertions, and concerns raised by other scholars, both indigenous and non-indigenous, as well as drawing upon my own indigenous experiences and embodied library.

The Embodied Library Indigenous libraries do not necessarily follow the form and function of conventional libraries as mainstream society may conceive them. Likewise, ownership of the intellectual property as conveyed through the body of knowledge that is indigenous wisdom can also be a complex topic. Put more simply, the source of indigenous knowledge and wisdom arises from the people – past, present, and future – and is existential to their very being. The embodiment of indigenous knowledge has always been a very literal factor in the survival, sustainability, and continued existence of indigenous peoples. The embodied library of Native Hawaiians, for example, is particularly well illustrated in the story told in the film, Under a Jarvis Moon (Altieri et al. 2011). In 1935, a secret plan was instituted by the US Department of Commerce to colonize several remote, uninhabited islands in the Pacific, approximately 1,000 miles from Hawai‘i. For the United States to claim ownership and control of these islands, they had to be occupied by its citizens for a specified period of time. It was then determined that recent graduates and students of the Kamehameha School for Boys in Hawai‘i would be ideal recruits for the project because, as Native Hawaiians, they could “fish in the native manner, swim excellently, handle a boat, be disciplined, friendly, and unattached” (US Congress 2011, §7). Upon completion of a successful first tour, additional Kamehameha Schools alumni were brought to the islands, leaving them under the exclusive occupation of the Native Hawaiian colonists. Seven years later, after continual occupation and successful colonization, even in the midst of a world war, the United States achieved their aim and secured the islands of Howland, Baker, Jarvis, Canton, and Enderbury. During those years, more than 130 young men participated in the project, the majority of whom were Native Hawaiian (US Congress 2011, §28).



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The secret story and mission of colonization is both heroic and tragic in that these young men made numerous sacrifices, endured hardships, and risked their lives on behalf of the United States. Three of the Hawaiian men even paid the ultimate price, the first having succumbed to a ruptured appendix because, at the time, emergency medical care was more than five days away. Two more men subsequently perished, killed by enemy bombing of the islands during World War II. Yet, with all due respect to the young Hawaiians, what is most significant in relation to the embodied library is not particularly who these men were, as much as what. In fact, when placed on the islands, they were barely men at all. As previously noted, the Native Hawaiians were boys, either still attending or having recently graduated from high school. In their late teens and early twenties at most, they had a high-school education and minimal life experience away from the shelter of home and family. Likewise, although these boys were healthy, reasonably intelligent, and capable, they were not some group of superhuman candidates who had been specially groomed or trained in terms of being anything more than just ordinary high school students, who happened to be Native Hawaiian (Altieri et al. 2011). In the early phases of occupation, furloughed army personnel were also sent to occupy the islands. However, the hostile conditions in those desert isles proved to be too much for the non-Native personnel and, after the first tour, they were all removed and replaced by more Native Hawaiians. Eventually, recruitment expanded beyond the Kamehameha Schools to include both Native Hawaiians and non-Hawaiians from other schools in Hawai‘i, in addition to some radiomen and aerologists who were of Asian descent. With the exception of the hardships precipitated by World War II, the Hawaiian colonists were able to survive and sustain themselves, and some even thrived, despite the inhospitable conditions and limited resources available on those waterless, remote desert islands. What goes largely unsaid in the story, but utterly realized by those with cultural knowledge and access to the same embodied library, is that although the boys were chosen because they were non-military US citizens, they were also specifically targeted because they were Native Hawaiian. Setting all hegemonic and political implications aside, the significance of sending Native Hawaiians to those islands was because, as previously stated, it was postulated that they had the skills, abilities, and knowledge to sustain themselves and to survive on those remote desolate islands, and that is exactly what they did (Altieri et al. 2011). Notable as well, were the non-Hawaiians from Hawai‘i and the Asians who also fared much the same. If considering their embodied libraries, what knowledge did they, too, possess and how did they attain it?

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Defining Embodiment The term “embodiment” is defined as being an example or an expression of an idea or principle. It can also be an abstract concept given tangible, bodily, or concrete form. In the case of indigenous libraries, embodiment refers to the people, their places, environment, and their respective cultures. The very fact that indigenous peoples have survived and remain today is both verification and validation of their inherent knowledge and intimate understanding of the environments in which they exist, and to which they are integrally connected. Intended as an all-encompassing term, embodiment speaks to a form of ecological existence that has developed and evolved over years, even millennia. The Native Hawaiian boys that were taken to Jarvis and the other islands had inherited the knowledge and skills they needed to survive in the remote Pacific wilderness from their ancestors, people who have sustained themselves in similar environs for untold generations. Despite being quite young and without specialized survival training, the boys innately knew what they needed to do to survive. What is more, the boys also demonstrated ingenuity and abilities well beyond their years and experience. Unlike their non-native counterparts, the Native Hawaiians were both inventive and strategic in finding ways to sustain themselves even in the face of such limited resources and extreme conditions. Similarly, it could also be argued that the non-Hawaiian colonists from Hawai‘i, as well as those of Asian descent, must also have embodied the same kind of knowledge and information that the Native Hawaiians had.

Indigenous Ways of Knowing We might first ask, from where does the knowledge in the embodied library come? Much of what is currently known and believed about indigenous wisdom by contemporary Western scientists and civilization has been taken out of context, misinterpreted, or misunderstood, primarily due to differing worldviews, perceptions, and belief systems. Quite often, Western literature has alleged that indigenous knowledge represents concepts that are anecdotal, primitive, prescientific, or even ignorant in contrast to Western knowledge that has resulted from the scientific and empirical methods and linear conceptualizations. Consequently, although indigenous knowledge and wisdom do have a basis in intimate knowing and things inherently understood, indigenous ways of knowing are many. Indigenous wisdom typically originates through the cosmological and ontological beliefs of the various indigenous peoples. The cultural values and beliefs



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as set forth in the stories and oral traditions of indigenous peoples are what ultimately form and shape their worldviews. Likewise, Elder epistemology is also a significant component in the knowledge stores of indigenous peoples. However, renowned native scholar Vine Deloria, Jr contends that indigenous people’s efforts to understand the world were as systematic and philosophical as those of modern science. The difference between indigenous ways of knowing and Western knowledge is in their goals and objectives for investigating and in the different kinds of data they gather. This distinction is significant in that it relates directly to the cultural values and worldview perceptions of both Western and non-Western knowledge making (Deloria 1999). In four of the seminal works of Hawaiian literature, compiled by the first Hawaiian scholars to be trained as Western-styled scribes and later translated and published for posterity, there exists a Hawaiian philosophy of knowledge (Beckwith 1981; `Ī`ī 1993; Kamakau 1976; Kamakau 2000). The literature grounds Hawaiian ways of knowing as emanating first from family, which can include one’s entire genealogy, all the way back to the beginning of the universe. Similarly, Hawaiian epistemology espoused other ways of knowing that were not bounded by the limits of the physical senses such as prayer, prescience, dreams, premonitions, and even messages from the dead (Holmes 2000). However, these beliefs were not limited just to Native Hawaiians.

Elder Epistemology Many, if not most, native cultures revere Elder epistemology and include the metaphysical as integral to their ontological beliefs. In Alaska native communities, elders are accorded a central role as the primary source of cultural knowledge. For Alaska Natives, being recognized as an “Elder” is not necessarily about chronological age as much as carrying a degree of respect as a “culture-bearer” and a person who exemplifies the values, lifeways, and wisdom of the local people. Elders are often the philosophers, professors, and visionaries of a cultural community and are customarily expected to pass their knowledge on to future generations (Assembly of Alaska Native Educators 2000). Native scholar Angela Cavender Wilson shares her perspective about Elder epistemology from the Dakota tradition as the means for transmission of culture upon which the people depend for survival. Contrary to the narrow views recorded by Western historians, Wilson states that oral traditions offer a broader historical picture that does not contradict written texts, rather, it contributes details not seen elsewhere. Many Dakota families had a storyteller whose stringent task was to perpetuate their historiography. Each family’s stories, in combination with

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others, contributed to a collective understanding of the history in a given time period. The nature of Dakota oral tradition also reflects the ancient village structure in addition to the collective identity and memory of the community (Wilson 1996).

Lived Experience Deloria stated that all human experience was instructive and valuable. He also posited that all data must be considered, with the task being “... to find the proper pattern of interpretation for the great variety of ordinary and extraordinary experiences ...” (Deloria 1999, 46). These patterns of interpretation stem from natural events, processes, and relationships. It also follows that indigenous epistemology or knowing came from the people’s depth of insight into those events, processes, and relationships (Sefa Dei, Hall and Rosenberg 2000). Hawaiian scholar Leilani Holmes speaks about “heart knowledge”, “blood memory”, and the “voice of the land” in reference to research she conducted with Native Hawaiian Elders and the way in which they approached knowledge-making (Holmes 2000, 46). One Elder stated that “stasis is a consequence of not learning from one another” and that the future exists as a manifestation of knowledge through humans (Holmes 2000, 40). The Elders posed to Holmes that knowledge is produced through relationships and that relationships were understood to extend to all things and all people, even those beyond the physical and mortal realm. The Native Hawaiian understanding about the metaphysical aspects of existence, as Holmes noted, surpasses the realm of intellect and is embodied in the realm of emotion. Thus, heart knowledge is a multi-dimensional way of knowing that is both experiential and sensual (Holmes 2000).

Interconnectedness Stewart-Harawira stated (2013, 43–44) that “indigenous knowledge is an expression of life itself, of how to live, and of the connection between all living things.” There is a connection and it is particularly relevant to indigenous ways of knowing. The saying “all my relations” is frequently used throughout native communities, although the exact expression can vary from one group to the next. Often taken for granted, it means far more than just a liturgical blessing for all living things. From an ontological and epistemological perspective, this notion of relatedness and interconnection serves as the impetus for investigation, as well as the basis from which to draw conclusions about the natural world. Interconnectedness is



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the fundamental belief that shapes and guides native people’s ability to understand nature and live comfortably within it. It is also a source of data from which much of indigenous knowledge and wisdom emanate (Deloria 1999). Holmes echoes Deloria in relation to Native Hawaiians and calls her understanding “blood memories” (Holmes 2000, 46). Asserting that experience is crucial to knowledge development, the Native Hawaiian’s connection to their knowledge, or embodied library, is forged through their blood ties and their roots, not by information. The Hawaiian Elders stated that if a person does not have a particular life experience, then knowledge must come through the experience of an Elder. For the Hawaiians, Elders and their lived experiences are conceptualized as “containers of memory” (Holmes 2000, 42). Moreover, it should be noted that many Native Hawaiians (and potentially other native people) find greater validity in the knowledge they attain through connection, as in their blood ties or roots, than in knowledge or information gleaned from other sources. The key point to be made here is that memories passed down through these connections are inviolable. Further, knowledge, intact as passed down, must be respected (Holmes 2000). As a final note on indigenous ways of knowing, if not already made clear, the notion of relationship was to everything, whether it be sentient, non-sentient, tangible, intangible, animate, inanimate, living or dead, etc. As a consequence, native people had relationships with the land, the ocean, the trees, the mountains, the rocks, the animals, the fish, the elements, and many other things and they also recognized these things as having their own consciousness. These relationships provided knowledge in addition to sustenance. Conceptually similar to the aforementioned native saying of interrelation, the Hawaiian phrase is “I am Hawai‘i”. The interpretation of the Hawaiian words is “I eat you and you eat me”, the etiology of which is a symbiotic relationship where each feeds the other (Taum 2011). The Hawaiians believed that all of their relationships sustained them in different ways. In addition to imparting knowledge, sustenance meant survival and that aspect above all engendered the Hawaiian’s relationship with their islands. This grounded philosophy of knowledge collapses into Hawaiian cosmology. These ancient precepts are what enabled Hawaiians to survive and thrive, and underpin the Hawaiian concept of malama aina, a core value that means to love and care for the land. Symbiosis and reciprocity are what drove the many knowledge bearing relationships and thus, each was approached with the utmost of respect and care. They are teachings from the “voice of the land” and that voice is both ancient and contemporary, ever-present to those who know how to listen (Holmes 200, 46).

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Three Dimensions of Knowing Another aspect of the embodied library is where the information resides. Having touched on where the knowledge originates, how the information is stored is the next logical consideration. However, at the outset, one clarification should be made on how the terms “traditional knowledge” and “oral history” are being used. These terms are neither synonymous nor universally understood. David Henige wrote that oral history refers to the recent past and is derived from personal narratives or anecdotal evidence. Oral tradition, says Henige, must have been handed down for at least a few generations and should be widely practised or understood in a society (Henige 1982). Alternately, Wilson argues that Henige’s characterizations do not fit or conform to native understanding and practice of oral history and tradition. Instead, Wilson offers a native perspective and suggests that oral history is contained within oral tradition. Contrary to Henige’s definition, Dakota oral tradition is less concerned with how long ago something happened and places more emphasis in the way the information is conveyed. More specifically, the person conveying the history or story must be qualified. For the Dakota, this means chosen and trained to do the task (Wilson 1996).

Conscious Knowing Many native peoples have protocols for learning cultural knowledge. The Dakota, Dine, Laguna, and others have storytellers. Yet other peoples have wisdom keepers. Regardless of what they are called, the point is that in some cultures, specific people are tasked to hold the stories, the memories, and the knowledge. For other peoples, like the Native Hawaiians, everyone took part in the practice. Now seen as the Hawaiian dancers who provocatively shimmy and entertain the tourists, the hula is actually a very ancient didactic intended to instil cultural knowledge. For the hula practitioner, the rigorous ritual includes much more than just the repetitive and conditioned learning of song and dance. Starting as young as two years of age, practitioners are taught to forage for the materials they will need for each dance or ritual. From the garb they wear, to the implements they will use in the various rituals, the practitioner is expected to have a full and complete understanding about the properties of the materials used and knowledge about the specific environments in which their materials can be found and gathered – the ocean, mountains, wetlands, etc. In fact, even today, the hula is an institution and is taught through various schools that follow the direction of accomplished and notable Elders called Kumu Hula. The tradition of hula was



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just one way that indigenous people consciously cultivated the embodiment of knowledge. Knowledge retention was a critical factor in oral traditions. Although some indigenous cultures had systems of written word, left exclusively to the reader, they could too easily be misinterpreted. One such contemporary example of this is email correspondence. Email, for all its ease, speed, and convenience, omits many of the cues that people take for granted in oral communication. Despite being the written word, emails are frequently misinterpreted without their originator on hand to translate. Indigenous people deeply understood the significance of fidelity in knowledge and information and, in ancient times, maintaining it was paramount because it could mean the difference between life and death. Knowledge and information could not be subject to interpretation. Known for their emphasis on ceremony and ritual, indigenous cultures seem to have a ceremony or ritual for most aspects of daily life. Although there is very definitely a spiritual component to these traditions, there is also a practical one. Like the hula practised by Native Hawaiians, the ceremony and ritual of indigenous cultures provide a method of didactic and pedagogy for the conscious learning of indigenous knowledge. Elder epistemology also had its place in the conscious development of knowledge. The Māori of New Zealand have a cultural tradition that translates as “big sister, little sister”. This ancient tradition that continues to be practised is an Elder epistemology wherein an older sibling is expected to teach and mentor the younger. This didactic is another symbiotic philosophy in that although the younger is under the tutelage of the elder sibling, the elder sibling is also developing in experience, maturity, and valuable knowledge through the process.

Subconscious Knowing Not quite as obvious or straightforward is the knowledge we glean through conscious processes that becomes our subconscious knowing. To clarify for the purpose of this discourse, subconscious knowing is not the things we know inherently. Rather, subconscious knowing originates with the patterns that we have observed or been exposed to over long periods of time, as well as those in our surroundings. Childhood experiences are those that can have a profound influence on subconscious knowing. Other learned, conditioned behaviours such as typing, driving, playing a musical instrument, or even riding a bicycle, are all patterns that, once learned, enable us to invoke that kind of knowing or those abilities in a reflexive manner or at least with economy of conscious thought. Subconscious knowing seems to be that of natural human cognitive functioning and

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has little to do with culture or indigenous ways of knowing. However, the way that people are conditioned and the patterns that lend form and shape to the way they interpret their experiences, both ordinary and extraordinary as Deloria had noted, are certainly products of their cultural upbringing.

Unconscious Embodied Knowing Human behaviours that might easily be misconstrued as subconscious knowing may also be the ancestral patterns that are programmed in our DNA and that can exert a tremendous pull from deep within our unconscious knowing. Embedded within each person’s cellular structure is a complete library containing all of the lived experiences and memories of every one of our forebearers. Just as any seed possesses the knowledge necessary to develop into a plant or tree, humans carry a complete library of their ancestral heritage within each gene of their DNA. These kind of collective memories are now known as epigenetics. This concept of unconscious embodiment relates to recent discoveries and new scientific understanding regarding the developmental and intergenerational influences of genetic structure and expression on human biology. Epigenetics defines how the information in our genes is expressed (Harper 2005). The lived experiences of all humans are highly variable and socially stratified. In this regard, humans are equipped with the capacity to adapt and organize in response to local patterns of stress and opportunity. Research has demonstrated that epigenetic changes are initiated in response to the environment and that socially defined environmental context can become embodied through heritable changes in the expression of specific genes. This knowledge blurs the distinction between the genetic and environmental influences on biology (Kuzawa 2008). Put into simpler terms, the implications of epigenetics are that people’s lived experiences within a given environment become a process of learned adaptation. These learned adaptations and experiences are then archived within their genetic code, available for recall when their environmental conditions necessitate those learned adaptations. This type of epigenetic recall was what the Native Hawaiian boys so aptly demonstrated in the Jarvis colonization experiment. It should be made clear that these adaptations are always inherent in each person’s genetic profile, however, the key to recalling these learned adaptations is that they must be triggered or activated by environmental conditions or by a process called emergence. This critical symbiosis between human and environment is something that indigenous people have understood for many millennia. It is also why those who embodied a different library than the “island boys” did not fare nearly as well in the Jarvis experiment.



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In summary, the three dimensions of knowing are distinctly part of every human being. Together, they are what make up the embodied library. However, what makes indigenous embodied libraries so significant is that they have been derived from cultural societies that have not only existed for thousands of years but have also developed relationships with their environments that were so interdependent that the learned adaptations became even more deeply engrained within the genetic structure.

The Transmission of Knowledge Although not exhaustive, knowledge transmission has been demonstrated in the many specific cultural methods and traditions that have previously been discussed. However, because embodiment can mean many things, not the least of which would include the physical and physiological, it also refers to the psychological and the sociocultural. Consequently, within the concept of embodiment is also a distinct understanding of the body as a vessel or carrier of the collective cultural memories and the psychological capacity, or complexity of thought processes, to recall and execute those inherited learned adaptations. This mechanism of transmission is known as memetics.

Memetics Explained Biologist Richard Dawkins contributed to evolutionary science when he introduced the concept of memes, understood and defined as cultural items that are transmitted in a manner analogous to heredity. The study of memes, or memetics, addresses how the phenotypic effects of a gene, or the way in which a genetic attribute is expressed, are not necessarily limited to an organism’s body but can stretch far into the environment including into the bodies of other organisms. Consequently, memes can affect biology, psychology, sociology, and culture. In fact, memes can be considered the carriers of culture and are propagated and transmitted across the ecologies of the mind (Dawkins 1982). Memes aid in the broader transmission of acquired traits or, in other words, making the genetic expressions widespread among the populace of a tribe or society. From a sociocultural perspective, these memes take shape as behaviours, beliefs, worldviews, and values. Psychologist Donald E. Beck expanded on the concept of memetic transmission by introducing the term “vMeme” in reference

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to the systems that underlie memetic structures.1 These would be organizing principles, valuing systems, levels of psychological existence, or more simply put, ways of thinking. Similar to ways of knowing, vMemes are ways of thinking that follow our preprogrammed epigenetic patterns or learned adaptations. Consequently, vMemes represent a core intelligence that forms systems and directs human behaviour (Beck and Cowan 1996).

Systems Thinking Another more recent scientific understanding, systems theory, is broad in scope and regards ideas about development, emergence, evolution and, ultimately, the creativity of living organisms. The concepts of systems theory are also well suited for exploring processes of renewal, adaptability, and sustainability. These concepts help to tie together the various threads of this discursive essay about the embodied library by summarizing and explicating the existence and validity of Indigenous wisdom and libraries. Margaret Wheatley noted that life’s first imperative is self-determination, the freedom to create itself. Thus, every species is an individual expression of life, and multiple species give rise to diversity. An ecosystem is a community in which diverse species live together in ways that support both the individual and the entire system. However, within each ecosystem, an ongoing struggle for wholeness exists, brought about by the literal paradox of tension between opposites. In complex systems, there is a need for relationships (interdependence). The boundaries where relationships take form are how “individual organisms shape themselves in response to their neighbours and their environments” (Wheatley 2007, 25). Both individuals, as well as systems, arise from the conflicting forces within an ecosystem (Wheatley 2007). Wheatley goes on to state that life’s second imperative is the search for community. Evolution progresses from the existence of relationships and nothing exists for very long in isolation. Thus, cooperation between systems increases 1 “A meme contains behavioral instructions that are passed from one generation to the next” (Beck and Cowan 1996, 31). A meme reproduces itself through concepts like dress, language trends, cultural norms, art forms, religious expressions, and moral statements of how living should be done. A vMeme (value Meme) acts as an organizing principle that binds memes and other kinds of ideas into a package of cohesive thought. The structure of vMemes form the basis for ways of thinking, value systems, political forms, and world views of entire civilizations. Consequently, use of the term “vMeme” refers to a worldview, a value system, a belief structure, an organizing principle, or a way of thinking generally ingrained via cultural transmission and ancestry over generations (Beck and Cowan 1996).



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their potential for sustainability, while species that foster greed will tend to die off. Yet, the ever present tension within every ecosystem spurs the disequilibrium that incites emergence and results in the adaptation that, ultimately, contributes to the overall health and stability of the system. Therefore, when a system is capable of evolving due to changing life conditions, it follows that such a system is sustainable until and unless it is no longer able to adapt. Consequently, systems are not static structures, nor are they fixed in behaviour or outcome (Wheatley 2007). Systems thinking brings the concept of an embodied library full circle by scientifically validating indigenous ways of knowing and demonstrating how indigenous wisdom is a dynamic result of evolutionary processes. The contemporary explanations echo the principles that are fundamental to the cosmologies and ontologies of most indigenous societies. They also verify the nature of indigenous libraries as dynamic, living repositories representative of the thought patterns and abilities that define indigenous wisdom.

The Ownership of Knowledge As has been shown, the knowledge that indigenous peoples possess has been passed down to them from their ancestors and it is quite literally embodied within them (Peters 2011). Moreover, that knowledge has been the basis of how they have lived in harmony and balance in the world and with nature itself. This has been the very key to their survival and sustainability as a species (Mohawk 2006). Similarly, Wilson, the Dakota storyteller, stated that oral histories and stories should be recognized as celebrations of culture and declarations of resiliency, tenacity, and survival. The oral histories of indigenous people are a testimony to the richness, variety, detail, and complexity that indigenous people have experienced (Wilson 1996). The value offered by indigenous knowledge is that it has profound implications for how we think about knowledge. It also provides a complex and dynamic set of skills and understandings in the way we perceive knowledge and knowledge making. Indigenous knowledge presents an ecological reconceptualization of the complexity of interrelationship and the nature of being and has the potential to serve the rest of the world to find its way out of the worst set of crises in the known history of humankind. Finally, it repositions (some) indigenous knowledge and scholarship within the discursive framework of innovation, excellence, and contribution to economic wealth (Stewart-Harawira 2013).

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Historically, however, non-indigenous parties have sought to discredit both indigenous ontologies and ways of knowing. Indigenous philosophical knowledge and traditional ways of being in the world have systematically been marginalized and undervalued as valid and legitimate forms of data and information. Consequently, indigenous knowledge has been deemed important only insofar as it is compatible with overriding concerns for knowledge that create profit (Stewart-Harawira 2013). The final question to be considered is, to whom does the knowledge belong and to what end must it be protected? For indigenous peoples in particular, exploitation of indigenous knowledge can be viewed as a form of cognitive imperialism that impacts on indigenous knowledge and indigenous scholarship in deeply contradictory and potentially very damaging ways. Consequently, indigenous initiatives must encompass the right to their intellectual and cultural property by asserting their own sovereign authority over the right to name and claim their own identities, definitions, traditional knowledge, and cultural practice (Stewart-Harawira 2013). More importantly, it is imperative that others not only recognize, but respect and acknowledge the extent to which the body of indigenous knowledge has been developed over time and uncounted generations. In conclusion, embodied libraries and the literature that ultimately emanates from indigenous ways of knowing are reflective of the collective wisdom and memories of the indigenous peoples and their ancestors, and are representative of the combined consciousness from which they come forth. Thus, ownership of the knowledge should reside with its originators.

References Altieri, Lisa, Heather Haunani Giugni, George Kahanu, Noelle M. K. Y. Kahanu, Noelani Māhoe, and Bernice Pauahi Bishop Museum, directors. Under a Jarvis Moon. Film. Honolulu: Bishop Museum, 2011. Assembly of Alaska Native Educators. 2000. Guidelines for Respecting Cultural Knowledge. Anchorage, AK: Alaska Native Knowledge Network. Beck, Donald E., and Christopher C. Cowan. 1996. Spiral Dynamics: Mastering Values, Leadership and Change: Exploring the New Science of Memetics. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Beckwith, Martha, trans. 1981. The Kumulipo: A Hawaiian Creation Chant. Honolulu: University Press of Hawai‘i. Dawkins, Richard. 1982. The Extended Phenotype: The Gene as the Unit of Selection. Oxford; San Francisco: Freeman. Deloria, Vine, Jr. 1999. Spirit & Reason: The Vine Deloria, Jr., Reader. Golden CO: Fulcrum.



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Harper, Lawrence. 2005. “Epigenetic Inheritance and the Intergenerational Transfer of Experience.” Psychological Bulletin 131(3): 340–360. Accessed on 19 May 2015. doi:10.1037/0033-2909.131.3.340. Henige, David P. 1982. Oral Historiography. London; New York: Longman. Holmes, Leilani. 2000. “Heart Knowledge, Blood Memory, and the Voice of the Land: Implications of Research among Hawaiian Elders.” In Indigenous Knowledges in Global Contexts: Multiple Readings of Our World, edited by George J. Sefa Dei, Budd L. Hall and Dorothy Goldin Rosenberg, 37–53. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. `Ī`ī, John Papa. 1993. Fragments of Hawaiian History, edited by Dorothy Barrère, 2nd revised edition. Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press. Kamakau, Samuel. 2000. Ka Po‘e Kahiko: The People of Old. Honolulu: Bernice Pauahi Bishop Museum. Kamakau, Samuel. 1976. The Works of the People of Old: Na Hana a Ka Po‘e Kahiko. Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press. Kuzawa, Christopher W. 2008. “The Developmental Origins of Adult Health: Intergenerational Inertia in Adaptation and Disease.” In Evolutionary Medicine and Health, edited by Wendy R. Trevathan, E. O. Smith and James J. McKenna, 325–349. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mohawk, John. 2006. “Surviving Hard Times: It’s Not for Sissies.” Yes! 9 May (38). Peters, Wendy M. K. 2011. “The Indigenous Soul Wound: Exploring Culture, Memetics, Complexity and Emergence” (doctoral dissertation, Institute of Transpersonal Psychology). http://search.proquest.com/docview/898334092. Accessed on 19 May 2015. Sefa Dei, George J., Budd L. Hall, and Dorothy Goldin Rosenberg, eds. 2000. Indigenous Knowledges in Global Contexts: Multiple Readings of our World. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Stewart-Harawira, Makere. 2013. “Challenging Knowledge Capitalism. Indigenous Research in the 21st Century.” Socialist Studies 9(1): 39–51. Taum, Ramsey. Sep 29, 2011. “Ancient Wisdom, Future Thinking: Raising the Blue Continent.” Honolulu, Hawai‘i, TEDx, Richardson Law School, University of Hawai‘i. YouTube video. http://youtu.be/Rj1WKf0fRMM. Accessed on 19 May 2015. US Congress. 2011. “H. R. Res. 388, 112th Cong.”. http://www.gpo.gov/fdsys/pkg/ BILLS-112hres388ih/html/BILLS-112hres388ih.htm. Accessed on 19 May 2015. Wheatley, Margaret J. 2007. Finding Our Way: Leadership for an Uncertain Time. 1st ed. San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler Publishers. Wilson, Angela Cavender. 1996. “Grandmother to Granddaughter: Generations of Oral History in a Dakota Family.” American Indian Quarterly 20(1): 7–13.

Darren Courchene

3 A  nishinaabe Dibendaagoziwin (Ownership) and Ganawenindiwin (Protection) Intellectual property comes in many forms: patents, trademarks, industrial designs, copyright, and confidential information or trade secrets.1 Navigating the ever-flowing waters of Canadian intellectual property law in Anishinaabe territories is never easy and many aspects of intellectual property law negatively impact Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin (oral history).2 Western concepts of intellectual property tend to ignore the basic tenets of Anishinaabe legal constructs. When examining intellectual property solely from a western construct you come to understand that Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin is not as protected as one would think. We have to carefully navigate the waters of intellectual property to incorporate the legal philosophies and understandings of Anishinaabe peoples and see where these philosophic infused waters will take us. Leslie McCartney explored the complex issue of protecting ‘First Nation Oral Histories,’ in particular Gwich’in oral histories, and came to the following conclusion (MaCartney 2009, 86–87): Many Aboriginal people in Canada have voiced concerns about the cultural appropriation and commercial exploitation of traditional cultural expressions such as art, songs, and stories. They have drawn attention to the unauthorized use of sacred symbols, stories, and songs; to the fragmentation of cultural expressions that results when they are used outside the context and intent of their original creation; and to the fact that the original creators rarely receive thanks or economic benefit from the use of these expressions. It is of paramount importance that, for deep appreciation, these cultural expressions be preserved, and promoted, within the cultural context in which they were created and intended. Thus we must consider issues of copyright.

1 Intellectual property is very limited in the western paradigm; however, in the Anishinaabe paradigm intellectual property covers much more: songs, dances, written words, spoken words, rituals, bundles, prayers, designs, inventions, art, histories, various story types, etc. In this article, the Anishinaabe intellectual property understanding is paramount. 2 A note on terminology. Anishinaabe(g) is the author’s preferred term used to describe aboriginal/indigenous people in Canada. Anishinaabe-Ojibwe is the specific group otherwise known as Ojibway, Chippewa or Saulteaux, while Anishinaabe-Ininew is the specific group known as Cree. Additionally, the terms “people” and “nations” will be used interchangeably.



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Under the Canadian intellectual property regime Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin can be protected under Canadian copyright law. However, copyright specifically protects the right of an individual, group, or corporation’s ability to prevent another from copying the subject, in this case Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin, for a set period of years, and when that “embargo” ends it enters the public domain, where all people can copy and use the subject previously under protection without restriction. The protection is not automatic and must be enforced by the individual, group or corporation by finding the breach of copyright and moving forward with costly litigation. In addition, the protection of copyright is not absolute. Under the Canadian regime there are exceptions such as the concept of “fair dealing”. Fair dealing provides users the right to copy for research, private study, education, parody, satire, criticism, review and news reporting. The determination of fair dealing is on a case-bycase basis and is not clearly defined in the Copyright Act (Harris 2014, 163–165).3 With the limited protection provided by Canadian law on intellectual property, we must now turn our attention to the Anishinaabe legal philosophies to better understand dibendaagoziwin (ownership) and ganawenindiwin (protection). D’Arcy Rheault provides an introduction (1999, para. 3) to the Anishinaabe legal context: To better understand Anishinaabe cultural codes it is necessary to set out the historical context within which these codes find themselves. Anishinaabe history, from an Anishinaabe perspective is not that history usually taught within the context of Western acquisition. Anishinaabe autohistory (self-history) is an ethical approach and it is based on two premises. The first is that, in the way Europeans appropriated Indigenous territory, the cultural values of the Anishinaabe influenced the formation of the character of the Euro-American. Consequently, European values did not modify the cultural codes of the Anishinaabe, since the Anishinaabe never left their natural milieu.

Laws in Anishinaabe-Ojibwe territories were blended into their languages, spiritualities, and intrinsic understandings layered within their lifestyles. The laws were simply understood as the Manidoo onaakonigewinan (Creator’s laws) and were passed down through the generations by a long tradition of Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin. James Youngblood-Henderson states (2008, 11): … Indigenous teachings and legal traditions live on in the unconscious and the conscious of the peoples who were oppressed by colonization; they were passed from one generation to 3 The United States has a similar copyright exception called “fair use” but it is distinctly different than the Canadian “fair dealing” and this must be taken into consideration when examining copyright exemptions.

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another through stories, art, and ceremonies so that each people could restore them at the right time and transform them….

The Manidoo onaakonigewinan were given to the Anishinaabe people and have a myriad of interpretations. What follows are the Manitoba Anishinaabe elders’ understandings of the Manidoo onaakonigewinan. Gaagige-onaakonigewin (eternal law), colloquially, is the rights and responsibilities intrinsic to the belief systems of the Anishinaabeg. Minik igo giizis bimosed, minik gegoo ji-nitaawigik, minik nibi ge-bimijiwang. Mii’iye gaagige-onakonigewin. “As long as the sun shines, grass grows, and the waters flow, that’s Eternal Law.” (Scott quoted in Pratt et al. 2014, 27)

This eternal law is expressed in the way each of the nations conduct the pipe ceremony. The term onaakonigewin (law) comes directly from the pipe ceremony: inoo’ige (to point) is the original stem word for onaakonigewin and describes how you point the pipe in a specific order and directions (Anishinaabe elder Harry Bone in conversation with the author, October 2006). To paraphrase Harry Bone, you point the pipe in the seven directions: creator, earth, yourself, and the four cardinal directions. It reminds us that we are a part of creation and that we have to honour creation each and every day. Anishinaabe elder Ken Courchene shared the niizhwaasho-onashowewinan (seven sacred laws) that the Creator gave to the people in order live a good life and develop health long term, healthy, and renewable relationships (Courchene quoted in Pratt et al. 2014, 29–31): [The first law is] this is the Creator’s garden….So the second law is that, [of] the earth itself, mother earth, the grandmother. That third one, that the people should have good hearts… [T]he fourth one…Your word is sacred.... They only took what they needed, everything in moderation…That’s the sixth law. The seventh law…Everyone is different and yet equal.

The niizhwaasho-gikinoo’amaagewinan (seven teachings)4 were conferred by the niizhwaaswi gimishooomisinaanig (seven grandfathers) and interpreted by Anishinaabe elder Dave Courchene (1988) as follows:

4 It must be noted that there are variants to the seven teachings. Not every Anishinaabe community follows these particular seven teachings; however, the ones presented here are from the author’s home community of Sagkeeng. For a discussion on the variant version of the seven teachings see Ruml (2011).



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–– zaagi’iwewin (love): the Anishinaabeg were to always act in love. To love the Great Spirit the same way he loved his people, because it was the love of the Great Spirit that gave life. Children are to be loved, for children are a gift from the Great Spirit; –– minaadendamowin (respect): to show real respect was to give of themselves for the benefit of all life. To respect the Elders and the Leaders who upheld the sacred laws of the Great Spirit; –– dabasenindizowin (humility): the Anishinaabe was always to act in humility; one was to always think about their family, their fellow man, and their community before they thought of themselves. To know humility is to know that there is a Great Spirit and he is the creator of all life, and therefore he directs all life; –– zoongide’ewin (courage): to be proud of being Anishinaabe and never to deny the way of life the Great Spirit gave to them; –– nibwaakaawin (wisdom): to live in wisdom is knowing the gifts the Great Spirit gave to everyone. To use these gifts to build a family and community filled with caring, sharing, kindness, respect, and love for one another. When we know and use our gifts we become an instrument of the Great Spirit, helping to bring peace to the world; –– gwayakwaadiziwin (honesty): it means to be honest to yourself. To live in the spirit of how they were created. Never to lie or gossip about one another; –– debwewin (truth): the Anishinaabe was always to seek the truth. The truth lies in spirit. Prayer was to be done every day at sunrise to give thanksgiving to the Great Spirit for the gift of life. All gifts and each ceremony were given by the Great Spirit to the Anishinaabeg to help them find truth, the true meaning of their life, and existence. Living truth is living the seven great laws. The Anishinaabe-Ininiwak were provided with what they term kiche’othasowewin (natural law). These laws speak to the conduct of individuals and how to maintain the balance between the physical and spiritual. Ininew elder D’Arcy Linklater provides a brief introduction to Kiche’othasowewin (quoted in Pratt et al. 2014, 32–33): Kwayaskonikiwin means that the conduct of a person must be reconciled with Kiche’othasowewin (the great law of the Creator [natural law]); kistehichikewin means that the conduct of a person must be based on the sacred responsibility to treat all things with respect and honour….; aski kanache pumenikewin means that the conduct of a person must be in accordance with the sacred duty to protect n’tuskenan [the land, life, home, and spiritual shelter entrusted to us by kihche’manitou for our children michimahch’ohchi (since time immemorial)]; ethinesewin which means traditional knowledge, including the influence of moons and seasons on climate, weather, animals, plants, and ethiniwuk (individuals) as well as

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seasonal harvesting cycles and practices. There is a duty to respect and seek ethinesewin; n’totumakewin means that a person must seek not to be understood but to first understand. It establishes a duty to teach as well as to understand and to share as well as to seek ethinesewin; aakwamisiwin means that a person must be caution of his or her action where there is uncertainty; oh’chinewin means that what a person does to nature will come back to that person; aniskowatesewe kanache pumenikewin means that a person must act in accordance with the sacred responsibility to protect heritage resources ….

Onaakonigewinan (laws) in the Anishinaabe worldview are not written. They are intrinsic. Onaakonigewinan are embedded in Anishinaabe languages, sacred narratives, personal reminiscences, and ceremonies. Onaakonigewinan were not prohibitive but rather instructive in nature. How these Anishinaabe onaakonigewinan apply to intellectual property and Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin will be discussed later in this chapter. Anishinaabe gikendaasowin ji-dibenjigaadeg (Ojibwe intellectual property) within Anishinaabe communities is complex. In modern day terminology there is the trunk of a tree named “Indigenous Knowledge” (IK) which has branches such as “Traditional Ecological Knowledge” (TEK), “Traditional Knowledge” (TK), “Oral History” (OH), “Oral Tradition” (OT), and so on. There are various protocols in place when accessing various types of intellectual property. These protocols include: who is allowed access to the knowledge, who holds the knowledge, when the knowledge can be shared, and how the knowledge is to be transferred. To explore all areas of these would require another four articles to be developed, for the sake of this chapter I will only explore one aspect of Anishinaabe gikendaasowin ji-dibenjigaadeg or what I term as the Anishinaabe-Ojibwe aadizookewin nisidawendawin (Ojibwe story paradigm). Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin has been seen as a dichotomy of two extremes: dibaajimowin (personal reminiscence) and aadizookaan (sacred narrative). However, I have learned through listening to elders in two major research projects I was attached to, as well as sitting and listening to family members share stories in the kitchen, backyard, and during activities of daily life. Most importantly I learned around the fire at ceremony, during and after the noodewaabaagezhimod (sun dance) or maadoodiswan (sweat lodge) that there are more than dibaajimowinan (personal reminiscences) and aadizookaanan (sacred narratives) at play when stories are being shared. Dibaajimowinan and aadizookaanan exist within a very structured paradigm which is the misaadizookaan (great story of the people). The misaadizookaan is the collective creation, history, culture, language, spirituality, laws, relationships, landscape, et cetera of the Anishinaabe-Ojibwe. In the words of Anishinaabe Elder and Professor Tobasonakwut Kinew it can be said that the misaadizookaan is “the big picture” which lets an individual know how they are connected to the ancient



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first Anishinaabeg (class lecture attended by author, October 2011). Visualize the misaadizookaan as a large circle with eight concentric circles on its periphery (Figure 1). Each of the circles is partially within the misaadizookaan and partially outside, signifying stories which come from interaction with other Anishinaabeg and colonizers but stories, nonetheless, linked to, remembered, and shared by the Anishinaabe-Ojibwe. To the east we have the aadizookaanan, to the south we have the gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowinan (oral histories), to the west we have dibaajimowinan, and to the north we have the gikinoo’amaagewinan (teachings). These are the four major divisions of story within Anishinaabe-Ojibwe society but they are not alone. To the northeast we have biinaajimowinan (stories of decency, modesty), to the southeast we have aawechigenan (moral stories), to the southwest we have aanikejimowin (generational story), and to the northwest we have biidaajimowinan (stories of fact).

Gikinoo'amaBiidaaji-

agewin

Biinaaji-

mowin

Dibaaji

mowin

Misaadizookaan

mowin

Aanikejimowin

Gaagikidoo gaagii-bi-

Aadizookaan

Aawechiganan

izhisem aagoowin

  Figure 3.1: Anishinaabe-Ojibwe aadizookewin nisidawendawin (story paradigm).

In their ethnographic review of aboriginal intangible property in Canada, Brian Thom and Dan Bain, explore Anishinaabe concepts of dibendaagoziwin. After reviewing the northwest coast, subarctic, arctic, and plains cultural regions for

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expressions and understandings of dibendaagoziwin they come to the following conclusion (Thom and Bain 2004, 44): We found that customary protocols and laws with respect to intellectual property are widespread across the diversity of Aboriginal communities, having a different particular scope of subject, matters, rights and obligations in the different areas. From a comparative sense there are some strong similarities in the kinds of property relationships expressed in these communities, particularly the importance of collective ownership of some property by certain social groups, and the frequent engagement of non-human (i.e.: spiritual) beings in the rights, responsibilities and obligations associated with these property.

An example of the notion of dibendaagoziwin within an Anishinaabe construct comes directly from the Anishinaabe-Ojibwe aadizookewin nisidawendawin – the dibendaagoziwin of gaagiikido gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin flows from collective in the east direction to the individual in the west direction; with aadizookaanan belonging to the community and dibaajimowinan belonging to the individual, with degrees of shared dibendaagoziwin in the middle. Taking the expression of laws of dibendaagoziwin a step further, James Youngblood Henderson shares the understanding of how Anishinaabe gaagiikido gaagii-bi-izhesemaagoowin is protected within its cultural milieu (Henderson 2006, 158): Passing along stories and teachings is a distinct gift. One person or family is sanctioned with the telling and performance of the story. The teaching of these stories is more than the narratives, they have to be told in the appropriate, place, context, or season and accompanied with specific songs, smudging, and ceremonies. First Nation jurisprudence establishes that those learning a story have a responsibility to teach the story to the next generations. Storykeepers determine to who the story will be passed on, but each First Nation carries the stories. Other stories stay within families or family bundles and are carried forward this way. Some families might have a comprehensive story and others may have an incomplete story. Also, First Nation jurisprudence establishes the rules for listening to the telling of a story and respecting its context. The key rule is that the listener must accept that regardless of what information he or she may have requested, it is an Elder or Storykeeper that determines the best way to tell a story or convey the teachings a story contains.

The ownership of Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin is without a doubt the property of the Anishinaabe people who share it. Under Anishinaabe onaakonigewin and protocols the rights are defined as to ownership, control, access, and possession.5 The current legal milieu in Canada now incorporates the highly aspirational United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People (UNDRIP). There are four articles in UNDRIP that apply to Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhise5 For an in-depth study of recent policy regarding ownership see First Nations Centre (2007).



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maagoowin and Anishinaabe gikendaasowin ji-dibenjigaadeg – articles 11, 13, 24, and 31 (UN General Assembly 2007). Article 11 states: 11.1 Indigenous peoples have the right to practise and revitalize their cultural traditions and customs. This includes the right to maintain, protect and develop the past, present and future manifestations of their cultures, such as archaeological and historical sites, artifacts, designs, ceremonies, technologies and visual and performing arts and literature.

Article 13 of UNDRIP declares the following: 13.1 Indigenous peoples have the right to revitalize, use, develop and transmit to future generations their histories, languages, oral traditions, philosophies, writing systems and literatures, and to designate and retain their own names for communities, places and persons.

Article 24 states: 24.1 Indigenous peoples have the right to their traditional medicines and to maintain their health practices, including the conservation of their vital medicinal plants, animals and minerals. Indigenous individuals also have the right to access, without any discrimination, to all social and health services.

Article 31 of UNDRIP states: 31.1 Indigenous peoples have the right to maintain, control, protect and develop their cultural heritage, traditional knowledge and traditional cultural expressions, as well as the manifestations of their sciences, technologies and cultures, knowledge of the properties of fauna and flora, oral traditions, literatures, designs, sports and traditional games and visual and performing arts. They also have the right to maintain, control, protect and develop their intellectual property over such cultural heritage, traditional knowledge, and traditional cultural expressions.

These are all well and good but UNDRIP leaves the implementation of these four articles, and rights declared therein, up to the state to implement. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights was a United Nations treaty, similar to the UNDRIP, which was incorporated into Canadian jurisprudence through the implementation of the Canadian Human Rights Act and the establishment of the Canadian Human Rights Commission. There neither appears to be no movement in this current Canadian government to incorporate UNDRIP into Canadian jurisprudence nor is there any movement to create a commission to administer UNDRIP. In addition, a caveat is in place in Canada, the UNDRIP must be consistent with the Constitution of Canada and the current jurisprudence of aboriginal rights in

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Canada (Hartley, Joffe and Preston 2010, 16). This does not bode well for Anishinaabeg. The remainder of this chapter endeavours to explore and define the right which Anishinaabe people have with respect to the protection of treasured resources – Anishinaabe giikiidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin and Anishinaabe onaakonigewin – by situating the right under the auspices of the constitutional framework and jurisprudence in Canada under Section 35. The major development to improve the recognition of aboriginal rights was when Queen Elizabeth II gave Royal Assent to the Constitution Act, 1982. The constitution reaffirms all rights which exist to aboriginal peoples in Canada. Section 35 of schedule B of the Constitution Act, 1982 Part II states: 35(1) The existing aboriginal and Treaty rights of the aboriginal peoples of Canada are hereby recognized and affirmed; and 35(2) In this Act, “aboriginal peoples of Canada” includes6 the Indian, Inuit, and Metis peoples of Canada.

With the explicit recognition and affirmation of the aboriginal rights in section 35 the rights Anishinaabe people held, hold, and will hold were elevated onto the constitutional plane. The Supreme Court of Canada later ruled in Sparrow that Section 35(1) of the Constitution Act provides a strong measure of protection for “aboriginal rights” (R. v. Sparrow 1990). The Court also stated in the same ruling that the “aboriginal and treaty rights” are capable of evolving over time and must be interpreted in a generous and liberal manner. The question arises, is the right to protection of Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin an “aboriginal right” under section 35(1)? The following section will demonstrate how the right to govern and establish laws is an Anishinaabe right first and foremost. Anishinaabe elder Edward Benton-Benai states (1988, 74), “[Creator] decided that the earth’s second people needed a system – a framework of government to give them strength and order. To do this he gave them the Odoodemiwin [clan system].” The Odoodemiwin governance model is more than a political body, it covers the entire gambit: judiciary, administration, spirituality, medicine, astronomy, mediation, philosophers, policing, educators, agricultural, artisans, etc. The Odoodemiwin governed the Anishinaabeg for millennia prior to the arrival of mooniyashag and in some corners of “Indian Country” it is still in practice. The leaders of the community are the Maang (Loon) and Ojijaak (Crane). Each has a specific role: the Maang-odoodem (Loon clan) is responsible for, in modern 6 This word implies that other names are possible for aboriginal peoples to be included in the Constitution Act 1982 such as Anishinaabe, see Chartrand (2002).



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terminology, management of internal affairs, policy, and management; the Ojijaak-odoodem (Crane clan) is responsible for, again in modern terms, management of external affairs and rights of citizens. These odoodemiwag lead through consensus and a decision was always reached (Eagle 1993a, 1–8). Jerry Fontaine, former Chief of Sagkeeng, expands on the roles and responsibilities of the Maang and Ojijaak (pers. comm. June 2007): [T]raditionally speaking the Ojibwe of the Three Fires Confederacy had two leaders – a civil leader who was responsible for the day to day goings on within the communities of the three nations. There was also the role of the war chief; the war chief was responsible for the external goings on of the communities of the nations, within the nations, and with the other nations as well.

The intellectuals, astronomers, negotiators, mediators, and philosophers of the community are the Giigoo (Fish). In contemporary time, this odoodem is responsible for planning, integrated development, and communication. If the Maang agreed to a particular issue and the Ojijaak disagreed on the same issue, the two leaders would go to the Giigoo-odoodem (Fish clan) and ask for a settlement to the dispute. Once the Giigoo-odoodem had rendered its decision, it became onaakonigewin and all Anishinaabe-Ojibweg were to abide by the decision (Eagle 1993c, 1–8). The patrollers, peacekeepers, herbal medicine people, healers, and ‘solitary warriors’ are the Makwa (Bear). Today this odoodem is responsible for herbal medicine, justice, corrections, and policing (Eagle 1993d, 1–8). The provider, hunters, protectors, and warriors of this system are the Waabizheshi (Marten). The Waabizhesi-odoodem (Marten clan) is also responsible for economic and resource development, land and environmental management, emergency response unit, and militia (Eagle 1993e, 1–8). The Waabizhesi-odoodem (Marten clan) was talked about by Fontaine, who explained their role (pers. comm., June 2007): Anyone that was without, the clan system provided for. For example, you have the Mishinowa7 of the Ogimaa,8 it was the responsibility of the Economic Aid to provide food, shelter, clothing for the family. The clan was very fundamental to providing for everyone and again you have to relate that to the notion of being fair and sharing. If anyone was seen as too self-serving and as greedy was seen as a threat to the system. So, for our people traditionally speaking, the more you had, the more you had to share. So, those citizens that didn’t want to share were asked to leave because they were a threat, to the economic, personal, and

7 Mishinowa in this construct is economic aid, literal translation – provider – in this context only. 8 Ogimaa in this construct is leader, literal translations – boss – depending on the context.

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social well-being of our people. So, when you talk about theft and stealing it was almost unheard of, because it was not a part of our teachings.

The spiritualists, agriculturalists, pursuers of knowledge, and educators of this system are the Bineshi (Bird). This odoodem is responsible for the cultural and educational development of the community. The sacred duty of this odoodem is to assist the other odoodemiwag in retention of ceremony (Eagle 1993b, 1–8). The artisans, reconcilers, gatherers, and pursuers of well-being are the Waawaashkishi (Deer). Currently, the Waawaashkishi-odoodem (Deer Clan) is responsible for community services, public works, and community development (Eagle 1993f, 1–8). The Gichi-Zaagaswaa’idiwin (Grand Council) comprised the collective Anishinaabe-ojibweg; their Odoodemiwin and Odinawemaagin (family) systems of government.9 All communities come together to share their experiences every year. This usually occurred in the late spring or early summer; today it occurs in the summer (Treaty One Protection and Implementation Office 2001, 2–3). Fontaine states (pers. comm., June 2007) that there are other roles and responsibilities within the Gichi-Zaagaswaa’idiwin: “You also had very specific roles to justice, economic aid, and roles and responsibilities to hunting”. Items discussed at these Gichi-Zaagaswaa’idiwin meetings varied: economic prosperity, policy, laws, planned aggressions, remembrance of the deceased, introduction of married couples, etc. At the end of the assembly, the communities would part knowing all the laws, policies, marriages, and deaths of their relatives who lived too far away to commune with on a daily basis.10 The Anishinaabeg were also a part of a supra-governmental body, the Anishinaabe Niswi-ishkodekaan Anishinaabe-odishkodekaan (Three Fires Confederacy). Fontaine describes (2009, 8) the Niswi-ishkodekaan Anishinaabe-odishkodekaan as follows : Within a highly complex political, economic, social and spiritual structure, the Ojibway assumed responsibility for the Midewiwin ceremonies, spiritual knowledge and the Miti-gwa-kik Gwii-wi-zens (Little Boy Drum); the Ota’wa for their economic well-being; and the Boodewaadamig for the sacred fire, which symbolized independence and sovereignty.

This body met every two years and was similar in structure to the Gichi-Zaagaswaa’idiwin; however, they did not select a chief as the confederacy respected 9 The other Anishinaabeg who are related to the Ojibwe are the Odaawaa and Bodéwadomi, and each had their own Grand Council. 10 For an in-depth review of the Grand Council’s roles and functions see Shields (2001).



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the autonomy of each of the sitting members.11 The Niswi-ishkodekaan Anishinaabe-odishkodekaan was uncompromising to its members – the Ojibwe, the Odaawa, and the Bodéwadomi. No law could be broken if made by one of its members at their individual Gichi-Zaagaswaa’idiwin meetings. Old feuds had to be put aside between families and strict adherence to the Odoodemiwin and Midewiwin (good heart lodge) teachings was paramount. Fontaine explained further (pers. comm., June 2007) about the Niswi-ishkodekaan Anishinaabe-odishkodekaan and how politics were on equal footing with spirituality – ogimaag (leaders) from both spheres had to be consulted: [There are] two levels … the Confederacy and the … Midewiwin. The Midewiwin basically were the keepers of the traditional knowledge, everything that we did as a people and nation was given direction by the Grand Medicine Lodge. An example was Tecumseh, people thought he was going to Walpole Island, Madeline Island, La Courte Oreilles, Kitigan-Ziibi, everyone assumed he was going to get warriors. He was actually getting approval from the four [Midewiwin] lodges or consent and approval to take up arms against the Crown. He knew the responsibilities of the Grand Medicine Lodge; he needed to get sanctioned, it was the reason he visited the lodges.

In the Niswi-ishkodekaan Anishinaabe-odishkodekaan, family was the key way they related – the Ojibwe were the eldest brother, the Odaawa were the middle brother, and the Bodéwadomi were the youngest brother. The Niswi-ishkodekaan Anishinaabe-odishkodekaan was the strongest in military might prior to the arrival of Mooniyashag (newcomers). Territory held by the Niswi-ishkodekaan Anishinaabe-odishkodekaan prior to and at the time of Mooniyashag contact covered the present-day provinces and states: Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Ontario, Quebec, North Dakota, Michigan, and Wisconsin; other satellite Anishinaabeg communities could be found in British Columbia, Alberta, Montana, Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, New York, Massachusetts, and as far south as Kansas and Oklahoma. Anishinaabe nations have continued down the road of sovereignty, self-governance and self-sufficiency with a sense of urgency. Anishinaabe people maintain that this process essentially encompasses the ability to establish objectives and to move toward achieving them vis-à-vis their leadership. Unfortunately, every policy that Canada has ever developed and implemented has done little to 11 The Three Fires Confederacy would have emergency sessions if warranted – for example: (something that affected the nation entire) aggression by other indigenous nations called for immediate direct action or for negotiation and ratification of indigenous treaties with other indigenous nations. The Confederacy utilized the spiritual leaders of the Midewiwin to guide the proceedings of the assembly. However, leaders such as Pontiac, Tecumseh and Shingwauk led the Anishinaabeg during military aggressions in the French and Indian Wars (1755–1763) and the War of 1812.

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support the notion of independence. Rather these policies have furthered paternalism and dependency. The Sagkeeng Anishinaabeg had reached their limit on waiting for Canadian policy to change with respect to the protection of their rights. Recognizing that they were in control of their destiny, they began writing down their understandings of their roles and responsibilities. The first major advancement was in 1990 with Tebwewin, the Sagkeeng First Nation constitution, developed in consultation with community members, elders, and leadership.12 The next came with the implementation of the Sagkeeng Lawmakers Assembly, which began developing and passing laws in 1997.13 Laws developed by the Sagkeeng Lawmakers Assembly included the Sagkeeng Process Law, the Sagkeeng Resource Law, and the Sagkeeng Conservation Law, which reclaimed jurisdiction over the Sagkeeng traditional territory and included the Winnipeg River.14 The Sagkeeng Resource Law and Sagkeeng Conservation Law require Manitoba Hydro to purchase a yearly licence from the Sagkeeng First Nation to utilize the Winnipeg River for the seven hydroelectric generating stations on the river. This licence agreement became the Sagkeeng and Manitoba Hydro Accord.15 In this giizhaakonigewin (law-making process) Anishinaabe leaders would have full legislative, policy making powers and jurisdiction to establish standards and processes over areas that are of immediate concern for Anishinaabe – particularly the protection of Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin. Anishinaabe nations could pass an Anishinaabe intellectual property and copyright law, which would provide a researcher with a licence to use Anishinaabe oral history, traditional knowledge, and traditional ecological knowledge which would be negotiated between the community and the researcher with various measures to protect against appropriation and exploitation. The researcher would

12 Tebwewin (1990) is the name of the Sagkeeng constitution which is in its third reading with the Sagkeeng First Nation Law Makers Assembly. 13 The Sagkeeng Law Makers Assembly consists of the Executive Council (Chief and Council), Elders’ Council, Women’s Council, Men’s Council, Youth Council, and general participation of all citizens of the Sagkeeng First Nation (urban and community-based). 14 Sagkeeng First Nation laws created in 1997: Sagkeeng Process Law – this law sets out how the Law Makers Assembly can develop laws; Sagkeeng Resource Law – this law sets out the assertion of jurisdiction of the Sagkeeng First Nation over the Winnipeg River based on Anishinaabe customary law; and Sagkeeng Conservation Law – this law sets out the regulatory terms and licensing fees for outsider access to the Winnipeg River for development and resource extraction. 15 This Accord was entered into by Sagkeeng First Nation and Manitoba Hydro for a period of 10 years and a licence fee of Canadian $2.5 million over the duration. The licence is renewable after negotiations are concluded based on the Sagkeeng Conservation Law.



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provide to the Anishinaabe nations a licensing fee for its use of Anishinaabe oral histories, traditional knowledges, and traditional ecological knowledges.

Conclusion Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhesemaagoowin is not protected within the Canadian intellectual property regime. Only new creations are protected within Canadian law for example, a formal fixation of Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhesemaagoowin in a new way, such as Basil Johnston’s work The Manitous (2001); as well as Louis Bird’s work Telling Our Stories (2005). But the Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhesemaagoowin presented by these oral historians turned authors will only be protected for the life of theses authors plus 50 or 70 years and it requires diligent review to ensure that copyright is not infringed. Once the protection under copyright law expires the Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin put into print will become part of the public domain where anyone can use and transform the materials. Anishinaabe-Ojibwe law as expressed in gaagige-onakonigewin, niizhwaasho-onashowewinan, niizhwaasho-gikinoo’amaagewinan, and kihche’othasowewin at first glance do not relate to intellectual property. However, as James Youngblood Henderson states (2006, 160), “Oral tradition does not spell out everything a listener needs to know, but rather makes the listener think about ordinary experiences in new, implied ways”. Upon a closer inspection you see the laws, rules and protocols embedded in these teachings from Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin. You find direction on how to act when accessing a public or private resource: with respect, relationships, reciprocity, kindness, caring, and sharing; in addition, you take only what you need. Both Anishinaabe intellectual property and Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin are public and private resources and these laws apply to interaction with both. These principles are found in the “...Indigenous legal traditions [which] continue to exist in Canada, despite a lack of recognition by the state or by the general public. Indigenous legal traditions may be deeply meaningful and have great impact on the lives of people within Indigenous communities ” (Friedland 2013, 3). Under these same legal traditions you find that there are consequences to not adhering to the laws expressed. You find that if you do not follow the protocols to access, possession, and transfer you potentially can onjine harm yourself, your family, friends, or loved ones. Under Canadian law only a few segments of the Anishinaabe-Ojibwe aadizookewin nisidawendawin are protected: dibaajimowin, parts of biidajimowin, and

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parts of anikejimowin. The further you move from the actual present the less protection is guaranteed. Anishinaabe gikendaasowin ji-dibenjigaadeg as it relates to Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin has multiple facets and had multiple layers of protection under Anishinaabe dibenjigaadeg (Anishinaabe ownership). The creation of new methods of protection, be it in expanding Canadian law, or utilizing Anishinaabe-onaakonigewin (Anishinaabe law), or even finding a hybrid, must be explored. Otherwise you end up in situations where appropriation and exploitation of Anishinaabe gikendaasowin ji-dibenjigaadeg and gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin occur.16 We need to develop a middle ground where intercultural dialogue can fairly and honourably occur. There is already a great deal of common ground between Anishinaabe peoples and Canadians because of the long history of interaction. But this dialogue must take place in an environment of mutual respect. Moreover, Canadians can benefit from the Anishinaabe gikendaasowin (knowledge) of relating respectfully to people and the environment in the protection of the environment from degradation and unsustainable exploitation (Tully 2000, 56–66). The courts have been neither friend nor ally to the Anishinaabe peoples of Canada – the decisions rendered have been schizophrenic and racist to put it mildly. In Canada, until recently, the courts have favoured the government’s claims and provided very little support to the Anishinaabeg claims. However, since 1997 the Canadian courts have established, with respect to Anishinaabe rights, an interpretation mechanism which requires examination of a right claimed by Anishinaabe people. The right must be intrinsic to the community claiming the right, its continuation today, and its link to the community prior to the assertion of British sovereignty over Anishinaabe lands (Borrows 2002, 61). Anishinaabe people never gave up the right to continue with their form of leadership, or to create a new form of government within the Canadian nation state. Thus, the lawmaking process and the Process Law of Sagkeeng are an initiative to reclaim these rights. With this process the Anishinaabe re-established the right and authority to create and establish laws. Anishinaabe people recognized that the power is not held within the provincial or federal levels of government. It is within the community itself and the people whom they select as leaders. The Anishinaabe right to govern and legislate is historically linked to the Sagkeeng First Nation and was in place prior to the exercise of British sovereignty in what is now Canada since 1867. It is suggested by this author that legislating gaagiikidoo 16 For an in-depth study see Jane Anderson (2010). In this Issue Paper, Anderson explores the appropriation and exploitation of IK, ITK, and IP from across the globe. She also shows some areas in which indigenous peoples are fighting back and areas to work on collaboratively in the protection of these precious and contested resources



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gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin protection through intellectual property and copyright laws based on Anishinaabe legal principles could be done under Section 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982. Thus, there would be no need for Canadian courts to interpret Canadian copyright and intellectual property right legislation to protect Anishinaabe gaagiikidoo gaagii-bi-izhisemaagoowin.

References Anderson, Jane. 2010. Indigenous/Traditional Knowledge & Intellectual Property. Durham, NC: Centre for the Study of the Public Domain, Duke University School of Law. http://web.law. duke.edu/cspd/pdf/ip_indigenous-traditionalknowledge.pdf. Accessed on 22 January 2016. Benton-Benai, Edward. 1988. The Mishomis Book: The Voice of the Ojibway. St. Paul: Little Red School House. Bird, Louis. 2005. Telling Our Stories: Omushkego Legends & Histories from Hudson Bay. Peterborough: Broadview Press. Borrows, John. 2002. Recovering Canada: The Resurgence of Indigenous Law. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Canada. 1982. “Constitution Act.” In A Consolidation of the Constitution Acts 1867 to 1982, 53–75. Ottawa: Department of Justice Canada, 2012. Chartrand, Paul. 2002. Background in Who Are Canada’s Aboriginal Peoples? Saskatoon: Purich Publishing. Courchene, David. “Seven Teachings.” Sagkeeng News 1(1): 4. Eagle, Sitting. 1993a Ah-ji-jawk and Mahing Doo-dem: A Series on the Clans of the Anishinabe [Ojibway] Nation. Morris: Pen Com. –. 1993b. Be-nais Doo-dem: A Series on the Clans of the Anishinabe [Ojibway] Nation. Morris: Pen Com. –. 1993c. Gi-goon Doo-dem: A Series on the Clans of the Anishinabe [Ojibway] Nation. Morris: Pen Com. –. 1993d. Ma-kwa Doo-dem: A Series on the Clans of the Anishinabe [Ojibway] Nation. Morris: Pen Com. –. 1993e. Wa-bish-e-shi Doo-dem: A Series on the Clans of the Anishinabe [Ojibway] Nation. Morris: Pen Com. –. 1993f. Wa-wa-shke-shi Doo-dem: A Series on the Clans of the Anishinabe [Ojibway] Nation. (Morris: Pen Com). First Nations Centre. 2007. OCAP: Ownership, Control, Access and Possession: Sanctioned by the First Nations Governance Committee, Assembly of First Nations. Ottawa: National Aboriginal Health Organization. http://cahr.uvic.ca/nearbc/documents/2009/FNC-OCAP. pdf. Accessed on 12 June 2015. Fontaine, Jerry. 2009 “I Naw Koo Ni Gay Win: N’swi Ish ko Day Kawn O’Dish Ko Day Kawn Ojibway, Ota’wa and Boodewaadamig Anishinabe” (master’s thesis. University of Manitoba).

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Friedland, Hadley. 2013. “Reflective Frameworks: Methods for Accessing, Understanding and Applying Indigenous Laws.” The Indigenous Law Journal at the University of Toronto Faculty of Law 11(1): 3–9. Harris, Lesley E. 2014. Canadian Copyright Law, 4th edition. Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons. Hartley, Jackie, Paul Joffe and Jennifer Preston. 2010. Realizing the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Triumph, Hope, and Action. Saskatoon: Purich Publishing. Henderson, James Y. 2006. First Nation Jurisprudence and Aboriginal Rights: Defining the Just Society. Saskatoon: Native Law Centre. –. 2008. Indigenous Diplomacy and the Rights of Peoples: Achieving UN Recognition. Saskatoon: Purich Publishing. Johnston, Basil. 2001. The Manitous: The Spiritual World of the Ojibway. St. Paul: Minnesota Historical Society Press. Kinew, Tobasonakwut. 2011. “Pathways to Indigenous Wisdom.” Class lecture at the University of Winnipeg. McCartney, Leslie. 2009. “Respecting First Nations Oral Histories: Copyright Complexities and Archiving Aboriginal Stories” in First Nations First Thoughts: The Impact of Indigenous Thought in Canada, edited by Annis May Timpson, 77–96. (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press), 2009. Pratt, Doris, Harry Bone and the Treaty and Dakota Elders of Manitoba with contributions by the Assembly of Manitoba Chiefs Council of Elders. Untuwe Pi Kin He (Who We Are): Treaty Elders’ Teachings, 2nd edition, vol. 1. Winnipeg: Treaty Relations Commission of Manitoba. Rheault, D’Arcy. 1999. “Anishinaabe Philosophy.” In Faculty of Environmental Studies 3000.03, Environmental Ethics Course Pack, 46–55. Toronto: York University. Ruml, Mark F. 2011. “The Indigenous Knowledge Documentation Project – Morrison Sessions: The Eternal Natural Laws.” Journal of Religious Studies and Theology 30(2): 155–169. R. v. Sparrow [1990] 1 S.C.R. 1075. (S.C.C.) Sagkeeng First Nation. 1990. Tebwewin. –. 1997a. Sagkeeng Conservation Law. –. 1997b. Sagkeeng Process Law. –. 1997c. Sagkeeng Resource Law. Shields, Norman. 2001. “Anishinabek Political Alliance in the Post-Confederation Period: The Grand General Indian Council of Ontario, 1870–1936” (master’s thesis. Queen’s University, Kingston, Ontario). Thom, Brian and Don Bain. 2004. Aboriginal Intangible Property in Canada: An Ethnographic Review. Ottawa: Industry Canada. Treaty One Protection and Implementation Office. 2001. Treaty 3 Grand Council Trip Report, Winnipeg: Treaty One Protection and Implementation Office. Tully, James. 2000. “A Just Relationship between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal Peoples of Canada.” In Aboriginal Rights and Self-Government, Edited by Curtis Cook and Juan B. Lindau, 39–71. Montreal: McGill-Queens University Press. UN General Assembly. 2007. United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: Resolution Adopted by the General Assembly, A/RES/61/295. http://www.un-documents. net/a61r295.htm. Accessed on 22 January 2016.

Anahera Morehu

4 H  ow to Integrate Mātauranga Māori into a Colonial Viewpoint Mihi Kei aku aihe tuitui moana, kei aku rangatira tuitui tāngata. Nā koutou i ārahi ngā kaupapa nunui o ngai iwi Māori o te ao, nō reira, whaiā te iti kahurangi, ki te tūohu koe me he maunga teitei. I te tāromaroma o Puanga, ka mate tētahi tangata. Nā koutou i tiramarama mai me manaaki tonu tātou e whai te ara tōtika. Mā te matakāheru e tanu, mā te mata arero e hahu ake anō. Ka hoki au ki a tātou e mahi ana te mahi tika i ngā whare taonga o te ao, kia kaha, kia maia, kia manawanui.1

Kōrero whakataki “Straddling two countries while walking in two worlds.” This is the caption for a photograph that was taken of myself and fellow indigenous colleagues after an indigenous hui (gathering) held at the Northwest Indian College, Lummi Reservation, Washington, United States. We were taking photos at the Canada and United States border and this is what seemed a most appropriate statement to make for what we do as indigenous people working within whare taonga, puna maumahara, pātaka kōrero, and many other different names that are used for the information storage facilities. To me, what is most appropriate as a Māori woman working in the realm of information management, is that being brought up as a Māori within a Tauiwi (foreign) society helped inform me of many aspects of working in both cultural settings. I believe that I have the ability to walk in both the worlds of the Māori and the Tauiwi. I understand the Tauiwi philosophies to the best of my experience and utilise these skills to help guide me in the future. The statement also highlights that Māori women in particular walk in two countries, that of Tauiwi

1 A customary and traditional form of respect and acknowledgement to those past, present and future. Please note that this is a cultural form of acknowledgement and providing a translation in another language in no way provides the recognition and understanding that my saying this in my own language provides.

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and Aotearoa. This has a foundation from Te Tiriti o Waitangi, but also due to my personal belief that women walk in both the physical and the spiritual worlds. It baffles me why those who are not tangata whenua (indigenous peoples) cannot grasp what it is that we do as tangata whenua, especially within the information sector. After the many opportunities of being able to travel, listen, and speak with tangata whenua of the world, I have noted that many of their viewpoints share similarities and are founded on their creation stories. I have noticed that these views shared on a worldly basis are still challenging for those who are not tangata whenua to grasp or understand. The foundation to the way tangata whenua think and do things within our own lands is something that is intrinsic to them. There should be a way to provide Tauiwi with an understanding that they can grasp and hold onto. I believe indigenous information plays a major role within the information sector in that information on tangata whenua is a strong basis for research especially within tangata whenua land base areas. For instance, in Aotearoa, when people arrive they want to view the tangata whenua in action or seek knowledge about the culture. Tourists and researchers are able to experience some of these cultural expressions within the whare taonga and through events, activities, and tourist attractions. Throughout this chapter, I will introduce you to many of my personal perspectives and, finally, how many of us within Aotearoa have attempted, tested, and implemented a programme to support understanding of the indigenous world within the information sector.

Ko wai ahau? He Māori ahau? These are simple questions for some and harder questions for others. I note that Karetu (1979, 27) discusses what it is for him to be Māori: To state categorically at the outset what my taha Māori is, is quite difficult because none of us is able to be objective in our analysis of ourselves.

Although Karetu’s commentary is dated, it is still very much relevant today as I was reminded when I listened to Doherty (2009) talk about the uniqueness of each individual, whānau, hapū, and iwi at a conference in 2009. It is tika that each individual, whānau, hapū, and iwi will have their own unique interpretation but that does not dissuade us from understanding what these are. Instead, there are ways that we as information specialists in the information sector can embrace these ideals.



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From my own perspective, as a Māori working within the information sector, the question is similar to some degree from the many experiences that both rangatira Karetu and Doherty have expressed. As a young girl, I did not know the difference between who was Māori and who wasn’t. It wasn’t until my older sister arrived home one day and informed our father that there were “Māori at the school”. At which he responded, “Are there? Who are they?” She quickly replied, “I don’t know!” Dad never gave an answer and just let it lie. We had to wait a couple of years before we actually found out that we were the Māori! I am positive that this is not the case during the times of our tūpuna. I learned through discussions with my mother’s father, who expressed the view that his tūpuna weren’t Māori. They were from the land, the region, the community, the whānau, they just were, whether they be Ngāti Whārara, Ngāti Poueka, 2 or whichever hapū. These are arguments that travel around in my own thoughts but I know that the base is that those of us today have taken on the kupu and held tightly to it. I have slowly started unravelling this myself in my own identity and, although I do say I am a Māori, I am only saying it because that is what other people understand. When around Māori, I am from Te Uringutu, Te Tāōū, Ngā Oho, Te Poueka, Ngāti Whārara, Ngāti Korokoro, 3 and so on. My whakapapa is varied in that I have many nationalities within my own bloodstream: Tararā (Dalmatia, Yugoslavia as my mother informed me), Portuguese, Welsh, Scottish, Irish, and last, but not least, Māori. Although I acknowledge them all, I am a Māori. In Māoridom, the easiest way for me to say who I am is that I come from the tou of the ika through to te hiku o te ika, encompassing all the lands that I acknowledge of my tūpuna and myself. Being Māori in itself is a dilemma. Karetu mentioned the many tribal affiliations that he has which, of course, makes him similar to all descendants or tangata whenua today. Durie (1998, 15) says “land strengthens whānau and hapū solidarity, and adds value to personal and tribal identity as well as the well-being of future generations”. I have strong emotional ties to the area I grew up in but since the passing of my mother’s father I started the journey into my other tribal affiliations to understand what this means to me. E whakakā ana ahau te ahi4 to those rohe. The journey has been worth it and the main result is that my siblings, our uri, and I know who we are and where we are from. That is most important for me. In general, if we seek a definition of the term Māori, Moorfield’s (2015) online dictionary provides us with many: normal, usual, ordinary, freely, without 2 Hapū of the Far North of New Zealand. 3 Hapū of Ngāti Whātua, a tribal entity within New Zealand. 4 Re-igniting the flame or reconnecting to the region.

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restraint, without ceremony, without object, clear, intelligible, explicity, fresh. In its new derivation, it now includes: native or belonging to New Zealand, person of the native race, New Zealander, aborigine. From the second derivation or its adaptation since the coming of Tauiwi, I made the leap and assumption that this term could be used for all indigenous people of the world. It is a term that was given to the tangata whenua by the then colonists. other countries, therefore, who have been given names to help the non-indigenous put them into their civilized framework are therefore Māori in the larger description of the term.

Te hononga At recent international indigenous fora it amazed me that indigenous people are still being talked at. Non-indigenous may not be aware that they may be trying to assimilate the very nature of indigenous people. Being talked at and not consulted seems to be a natural observation for Tauiwi organisations, especially in the new digital age. How many times have organizations realized they want to make indigenous knowledge available on the World Wide Web? The whole introduction of Creative Commons and open access is the way of the future, or is it? Are information organizations being driven by technology or is technology being driven by information organizations? Not involving the local iwi in cultural intellectual property discussions regarding their traditional knowledge and/or information but only using a take-down clause, which is a clause where digitized information has been made accessible to the world and has not undergone an appropriate indigenous process of recognition. Indigenous people who gain access to this digital product and find it inappropriate, can then ask for the item or resource to be removed. The tak-down process is not appropriate in that the indigenous information has already found its way to the wider world without appropriate consultation with the people to whom the indigenous content belongs. The thought that it might remain open for eternity without those indigenous people being aware of it is of major concern. It is natural for tangata whenua to utilize the knowledge and expertise of their natural world and integrate this into their normal daily activities. Whatarangi Winiata (2002) presents the five-way test – a factor that many carry into their roles as Māori whether they have a Māori or a generic position. For information managers, the test enhances decision-making on traditional knowledge paradigms with acquisitions, accumulation, and dissemination of Māori resources. The International Federation of Library Associations and Institutions (IFLA) Guidelines for Professional Library/Information Educational Programs (Smith, Hallam and



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Ghosh 2012), in its awareness of indigenous knowledge paradigms, includes this test in supporting indigeneity and the appropriate use of indigenous materials. Durie (1998, 218) states: “Māori aspiration for greater control over their own destinies and resources is variously described as a search for sovereignty, autonomy, independence, self-governance, self-determination, tino rangatiratanga, and mana motukae.” These concepts and understanding could raise concerns for the information realm. What support can Māori provide to information organizations trying to understand these concepts? Consider the many manuscripts and writings of Māori tūpuna being held by information repositories. Provenance is not ideal under indigenous concepts, since many of these materials were stolen, removed, or put on auction. Therefore, what is the consideration given from the housing organization when they become aware via their internal processes as to whom the owner originally was or is? Although the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) (United Nations 2007) provides a viewpoint on the rights of indigenous peoples, the author does not believe that the description or definition of what cultural and intellectual property is concise or succinct for Tauiwi organizations to fully grasp. While studying at Te Wānanga o Raukawa, 2003–2005, Moana Jackson helped provide a differentiation in a lecture that he gave. Jackson helped shape many of the decisions that the author has made in applying these simple principles and experience to my daily activities. I have definitely found that consultation with whānau presents a beneficial solution for all parties. For example, whānau of a resource held in our facility were upset at the misuse of the information by public who had full access to their tūpuna writings. Therefore, the solution ensured proper processes were in place that became an exemplar for management of other resources. The acknowledgement of kaitiakitanga is another concept that safeguards organizations regarding provenance, cultural and intellectual property, and providing open access to materials. Indigenous people are not averse to the idea of acknowledgement. Māori living in the international arena want access to information that is important to them. Information managers and organizations need to be aware of what these are and provide them accordingly.

Te whakakapi To enhance information organizations within Aotearoa, Te Rōpū Whakahau had tangata whenua shape and create a workshop to introduce the concepts of te ao Māori and how these can be used in everyday life. The originators of the frame-

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work realised that there were many non-indigenous talking about the indigenous worldview, but they actually didn’t believe it themselves. To many non-indigenous the indigenous worldview sounded more like a myth rather than scientific fact! Instead of criticizing these people, the concept grew that it is better for indigenous to speak about themselves from their own viewpoint, enabling the non-indigenous to hear it directly from the horse’s mouth. The workshop is from the perspective of tangata whenua, “Te hanganga o te ao, tā tū te Māori!” 5 The information shared shows the creation of the universe through the eyes of Māori utilizing the many resources that are available throughout the information sector. The workshop removes participants from their normal working environment and embeds them into the natural world of the Māori. They simply live and breathe the world through the cultural and customary practices of tangata whenua. Although still in its infancy, the answer to sharing through experts has provided a better understanding and enlightenment to those who have been able to take part. Many participants have their eyes opened to another worldview that removes the “fear factor”. I have seen minor changes take place, but these small steps are the ones that bring a different outlook into the world of information. I would encourage other indigenous peoples to take up the right to speak about themselves by themselves. Although there are many tribal entities, it only takes one small ripple for the spread to become world wide. Instead of whining about what others with little knowledge at all are saying at you, it is better to create something that enhances knowledge of indigenous peoples.

Kōrero whakamutunga Mā te hūmārika ka rata te tangata pukuriri, mā te pai ka aro te tangata kino, mā te ohaoha ka tika te matapiko, mā te pono e whakatika te tangata rūkahu. E kai ana te manu i te miro, nōna te ngahere. E kai ana te manu i te mātauranga, nōna te ao. Tūī, tūī, tuituia, tuia te here tangata. Ka rongo te pō, ka rongo te ao, tuia i te muka tangata i takea mai i Hawaiki nui, Hawaiki roa, Hawaiki pāmamao. Nō reira, rātou ki a rātou, tātou ki a tātou, huri rauna i te ao, tēnā koutou, tēnā koutou, tēnā tātou katoa.6

5 The creation of the universe pertaining to the knowledge, understanding, and expertise of Māori. 6 A customary and traditional form of respect and closure to all who have helped shape the discussion provided.



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Glossary of Māori Terms Te reo Māori

English

Hapū He Māori ahau? Hui Ika Iwi Kaitiakitanga Kaitito Ko wai ahau? Kōrero whakataki Kōrero whakamutunga Kupu Mana motuhake Mōteatea, waiata Pātaka kōrero, puna maumahara, whare taonga Rangatira

Kinship group, clan Am I a Māori? Gathering Fish, children of Tangaroa Extended kinship group, ation, people, tribe Custodianship, guardianship Composer, author, poet Who am I? Introduction Closing statement Message, statement, word Autonomy Lament, folk song, poem, song Information storage facilities

Rohe Tangata whenua Tauiwi Te Hiku o te Ika Te kōrero Te Tiriti o Waitangi Tika Tino rangatiratanga Tou Tūpuna (plural) / Tupuna (singular) Uri Whānau Whakapapa

Leader, noble, aristrocrat, dignitary, esteemed, revered Region Note the author is using this term loosely for Indigenous peoples Strange tribe, foreign race, colonist Northland of New Zealand, especially the northern tip The address, the conversation The Treaty of Waitangi Correct, true Independence, ownership Posterior Ancestor, elder Offspring, descendant, progeny Family, relation, kin Genealogy, lineage, descent

References Doherty, William. 2009. Mātauranga Tūhoe: The Centrality of Mātauranga-a-Iwi to Māori Education. Auckland, New Zealand: University of Auckland. Durie, Mason. 1998. Te Mana, Te Kāwanatanga: The Politics of Māori Self-Determination. Auckland, New Zealand: Oxford University Press.

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Karetu, Timoti Sam. 1979. “Taku Taha Māori: My Māoriness.” In He Mātāpuna: A Source: Some Maori Perspectives, 27. Wellington, New Zealand: The Council. Moorfield, John. “Te Aka Online Māori-English, English-Māori Dictionary and Index.” AUT: Te Ara Poutama, Auckland, New Zealand. http://www.maoridictionary.co.nz/. Accessed on 17 March 2015. Smith, Kerry, Gillian Hallam, and S.B. Ghosh on behalf of the Education and Training Section of the International Federation of Library Associations. 2012. “Guidelines for Professional Library Educational Programs.” http://www.ifla.org/publications/guidelines-for-professional-libraryinformation-educational-programs-2012. Accessed on 11 January 2016. United Nations. General Assembly. 2007. “United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.” http://www.un.org/esa/socdev/unpfii/documents/DRIPS_en.pdf. Accessed on 26 May 2015. Winiata, Whatarangi. 2002. “Repositories of Rōpū Tuku Iho: A Contribution to the Survival of Māori as a People.” Paper presented at the annual meeting of the Library and Information Association of New Zealand, Wellington, New Zealand, 17–20 November 2002. 

Part Two: Notions of Ownership

Gregory Younging

5 T  he Traditional Knowledge – Intellectual Property Interface Prior to contact with Europeans between 300–600 years ago, Traditional Knowledge (TK) systems had developed and flourished over thousands of years in various parts of the world. These knowledge systems are rich and varied, ranging from soil and plant taxonomy, cultural and genetic information, animal husbandry, medicine and pharmacology, ecology, zoology, music, arts, architecture, social welfare, governance, conflict management, and many others. Most of these TK systems continue to exist and evolve; at the same time, they have been appropriated and subjected to Western legal regimes. Indigenous cultural expressions are manifestations (TK) that are passed on by indigenous ancestors through successive generations. They are in turn inherited by current generations to be passed on to future generations. The use of traditional motifs in individual art may be viewed as undermining the integrity of the culture, particularly if these motifs are used by a non-indigenous artist. There has been widespread commercial exploitation of traditional designs in international and national markets (Battiste and Henderson 2000, 161) . Not all TK originates from indigenous peoples. Other forms of knowledge, such as ancient Chinese medicine, Caribbean steel drum making and music, ancient Belgian weaving and lace-making techniques, and ancient Swiss yodelling have been considered to be forms of TK. It is the case, however, that well over 95% of TK is derived from indigenous peoples. The term “Traditional Knowledge” differs from the term “indigenous knowledge” in that it does not include contemporary indigenous knowledge and knowledge developed from a combination of traditional and contemporary knowledge. The two terms are, however, sometimes used interchangeably. Certain voices in the discourse prefer the term indigenous knowledge because TK can be interpreted as implying that indigenous knowledge is static and does not evolve and adapt. However, TK is the term used in most national discourses and virtually all the international forums. Indigenous knowledge is not only “technical” but also empirical in nature. Its recipients’ integrate insights, wisdom, ideas, perceptions, and innovative capabilities that pertain to ecological, biological, geographical, and other physical phenomena. It has the capacity for total systems understanding and management (Henderson 2016, 198). The World Intellectual Property Organization Inter-Governmental Committee on Intellectual Property, Traditional Knowledge, Genetic Resources and Folklore (WIPO IGC) was established by the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) General Assembly in October 2000 as a United Nations interna-

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tional forum for debate and dialogue concerning the interplay between intellectual property and TK. There were 178 States as members of WIPO in 2002 (Crean, Taylor and Young-Ing 2003, 14). In carrying out its ongoing mandate to establish international standards for the protection and regulation of the use of TK, WIPO developed the following definition of TK for the purposes of a 1998–1999 fact-finding mission that led to the establishment of the IGC that has come to be regarded somewhat as a standard definition (WIPO 2002, 25): Traditional knowledge refer[s] to tradition-based literary, artistic or scientific works; performances; inventions; scientific discoveries; designs; marks, names and symbols; undisclosed information; and all other tradition-based innovations and creations resulting from intellectual activity in the industrial, scientific, literary or artistic fields. “Tradition-based” refers to knowledge systems, creations, innovations and cultural expressions which have generally been transmitted from generation to generation; are generally regarded as pertaining to a particular people or its territory; and, are constantly evolving in response to a changing environment. Categories of traditional knowledge could include: agricultural knowledge; scientific knowledge; technical knowledge; ecological knowledge; medicinal knowledge, including related medicines and remedies; biodiversity-related knowledge; traditional cultural expressions (“expressions of folklore”) in the form of music, dance, song, handicrafts, designs, stories and artwork; elements of language, such as names, geographical indications and symbols; and, movable cultural properties. Excluded from this description would be items not resulting from intellectual activity in the industrial, scientific, literary or artistic fields, such as human remains, languages in general, and other similar elements of “heritage” in the broad sense.

Sources of Indigenous Knowledge Some key sources of indigenous knowledge include: 1. learning from observation of cyclical patterns in ecosystems and other natural law; 2. learning from animals; 3. spiritual knowledge acquired through ceremonies; 4. learning through teachings in indigenous stories and prophecies; 5. trial and error; 6. indigenous empirical-like knowledge; 7. oral tradition; 8. learning from Elders’ interpretations and intuition; 9. ancient ancestral knowledge; 10. learning through indigenous theories and methodologies; 11. learning through unique aspects of the contemporary indigenous condition.



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However, these high-capacity, time-tested indigenous knowledge systems have been devalued and diminished by having Eurocentric perceptions and institutions imposed upon them. In the process, many of the systems have been debased through misrepresentation, misappropriation, unauthorized use, and the separating of the content from its accompanying regulatory regime.

Customary Laws: Developed Legal Regimes Devalued and Diminished Indigenous peoples have numerous internal customary laws associated with the use of TK. These customary laws have also been called “cultural protocols” and “indigenous laws” are part of the laws that indigenous nations have been governed by for millennia and are primarily contained in the oral tradition. Although, in lieu of the increased outside interest in TK and problems with interaction between TK and intellectual property rights (IPR) systems, there is a current movement among many indigenous nations to document their laws around the usage of their knowledge in written and/or digital format. In addition, many indigenous nations are developing methodologies for adapting and evolving customary laws so they will be effective in present-day situations. Although customary laws around the use of TK vary greatly between indigenous nations, some examples of customary laws include the following: –– certain plant harvesting, songs, dances, stories, and dramatic performances which can only be performed/recited and are owned by certain individuals, families, or clan members in certain settings and/or certain seasons and/or for certain indigenous internal cultural reasons; –– crests, motifs, designs, and symbols, as well as herbal and medicinal techniques which are owned by certain individuals, families, or clan members; –– artistic aspects of TK, such as songs, dances, stories, dramatic performances, and herbal and medicinal techniques which can only be shared in certain settings or spiritual ceremonies with individuals who have earned, inherited, and/or gone through a cultural and/or educational process; –– art forms and techniques, and herbal and medicinal techniques which cannot be practised, and/or certain motifs which cannot be used, until the emerging trainee has apprenticed under a master of the technique; –– certain ceremonial art and herbal and medicinal techniques which can only be shared for specific internal indigenous cultural and/or spiritual reasons and within specific indigenous cultural contexts.

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These are but a few general examples of customary laws that indigenous nations around the world have developed over thousands of years to regulate the use of TK. Indigenous customary laws are intimately intertwined and connected with TK and form what can be viewed as whole and complete, integrated, complex indigenous knowledge systems throughout the world. For example, speaking about clan ownership in Nlaka’pamux customary law, Sterling states: “This concept of ownership by clans, nations and family groups and individuals of stories and other knowledge must be respected. The protocols for the use of collective knowledge from each cultural area and each First Nation would have to be identified and followed (Sterling 1997, 39). Indigenous customary law, like other sources of law, is dynamic by its very nature. Like its subject matter – culture, practices, and traditions – it is not frozen in time. It has evolved with the social development of indigenous peoples. indigenous customary law also has an inextricable communal nature. The social structures that recreate, exercise, and transmit this law through generations, and the protocols that govern these processes, are deeply rooted in the traditional territories of indigenous peoples and, understandably, are inalienable from the land and environment itself. Indigenous customary law is inseparable from indigenous knowledge. In some indigenous nations, the abstract subtlety of indigenous customary law is indivisible from cultural expressions such as stories, designs, and songs. That is, a story may have an underlying principle of environmental law or natural resource planning. A song may explain the custodial relationship that a certain community has with a particular animal species. A design may be a symbol that expresses sovereignty over a territory, as well as the social hierarchy of a nation’s clan system. A watchman’s pole may be considered an assertion of aboriginal title, tell a story of a historical figure, and have a sacred significance. Neither the common law nor international treaties place indigenous customary law on equal footing with other sources of law. As a result, TK is particularly vulnerable to continued misuse and appropriation without substantive legal protection. Indigenous jurisprudence and law should protect indigenous knowledge. In relation to Eurocentric law, indigenous jurisprudence of each heritage should be seen as an issue of conflict of laws and comparative jurisprudence. With regard to its authority over indigenous knowledge, indigenous law and protocols should prevail over Eurocentric patent, trademark, or copyright laws. However, due to a series of historical realities that will be considered below, the status quo is that indigenous knowledge has become subjugated under European legal regimes, and IPR and other Eurocentric legal regimes trump or fail to recognize indigenous law. This has created a situation where TK is taken out of its indigenous context and placed in Western contexts without the accompanying indigenous law, thus leaving TK vulnerable and often devoid of, or lacking in, its integrity.



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Interaction between TK and IPR Systems As stated earlier, in the process of transporting European institutions into various parts of the world occupied by indigenous peoples, the IPR system has now been imposed upon the TK system. Many issues have arisen in the past ten years regarding problems resulting from the existing IPR system’s apparent inability to protect TK. The main problems with TK protection in the IPR system are: –– that expressions of TK often cannot qualify for protection because they are too old and are, therefore, supposedly in the public domain; –– that the “author” of the material is often not identifiable and there is thus no “rights holder” in the usual sense of the term; –– that TK is owned “collectively” by indigenous groups for cultural claims and not by individuals or corporations for economic claims.

The Public Domain Problem Under the IPR system, knowledge and creative ideas that are not “protected” are in the public domain (that is, they are accessible by the public). Generally, indigenous peoples have not used IPR to protect their knowledge, and so TK is often treated as if it is in the public domain without regard for customary laws. Another key problem for TK is that the IPR system’s concept of the public domain is based on the premise that the author/creator deserves recognition and compensation for his/her work because it is the product of his/her genius, but that all of society must eventually be able to benefit from that genius. Therefore, according to this aspect of IPR theory, all knowledge and creative ideas must eventually enter the public domain. Under IPR theory, this is the reasoning behind the time period limitations associated with copyright, patents, and trademarks. The precept that all intellectual property, including TK, is intended to eventually enter the public domain is a problem for indigenous peoples because customary law dictates that certain aspects of TK are not intended for external access and use in any form. Examples of this include sacred ceremonial masks; songs and dances; various forms of shamanic art; sacred stories; prayers; songs; ceremonies; art objects with strong spiritual significance such as scrolls, petroglyphs, and decorated staffs; rattles; blankets; medicine bundles and clothing adornments; and various sacred symbols, designs, crests, medicines, and motifs. However, the present reality is that TK is, or will be, in the public domain (that is, the IPR system overrides customary law). The same problems that TK encounters in its interface with the public domain occur when TK interfaces the Creative

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Commons; unless there has been a clear indigenous free, prior and informed consent with indigenous identified authorities. One of the greatest ironies of the status quo in the interface between European and indigenous knowledge management systems is that indigenous systems predate European systems by centuries. This point can be highlighted by the historical reality that when Christopher Columbus landed in the Americas, hundreds of integrated knowledge systems, complete with regulatory regimes, had been functioning on the continent for generations, while no such regulatory regimes were in existence in Europe. What would now be termed “piracy”, “unauthorized disclosure”, and “copyright infringement” was common practice in sixteenth-century Europe. In the period of time leading up to the mid sixteenth century, European authors’ works were produced in chapbooks and sold without permission, and inventors began to boycott the trade-fair circuit based around Frankfurt because they would commonly have their ideas misappropriated. During this period, it was also common practice for monarchies and churches to commission artwork and take ownership over it without regard for any concept of the rights of artists. The development of some of the important milestones in Europe led to the concept of “intellectual property” and the development of what became the IPR system.

Gnaritas Nullius (Nobody’s Knowledge) Just as indigenous territories were declared terra nullius in the colonization process, so, too, has TK been treated as gnaritas nullius (nobody’s knowledge) by the IPR system, which has meant it has consequently flowed into the public domain along with Western knowledge. In effect, indigenous knowledge has been colonized, along with many other indigenous institutions and possessions. In this colonization process based on gnaritas nullius, manifestations of, and practices derived from, indigenous knowledge—such as the canoe and kayak design, bungee jumping, snowshoes, lacrosse, surfing, and sustainable development – are embraced by Western peoples as their own (without acknowledgement of the source), just as lands were taken in the colonization process based on terra nullius. This has occurred despite widespread indigenous claims of ownership and breach of customary law. The problem is that advocates for the public domain seem to see knowledge as the same concept across cultures, and impose the liberal ideals of freedom and equality to indigenous knowledge systems. Not all knowledge has the same role and significance within diverse epistemologies, nor do diverse worldviews all necessarily incorporate a principle that knowledge



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can be universally accessed. Neither can all knowledge fit into Western paradigms and legal regimes. The Supreme Court of Canada (SCC) has yet to consider the existence of a collective aboriginal right to ownership and control of aboriginal cultural property (Bell and Paterson 2003, 121). A central dimension of indigenous knowledge systems is that knowledge is shared according to developed rules and expectations for behaviour within frameworks that have been developed and practiced over millennia. Arguments for a public domain of indigenous knowledge again reduce the capacity for indigenous people’s control and decision making over their knowledge and cannot be reasonably made outside the problematic frameworks of the colonization of TK and gnaritas nullius. Intellectual property law is largely European in derivation and promotes particular cultural interpretations of knowledge, ownership, authorship, private property, and monopoly privilege. Indigenous peoples do not necessarily interpret or conceptualize their knowledge systems and knowledge practices in the same way or only through these concepts (Anderson 2010). Thus, indigenous peoples and their allies continue to argue for recognition of indigenous laws’ jurisdiction over indigenous knowledge and the development of sui generis regimes that incorporate and complement indigenous laws at local, national, and international United Nations levels such as the WIPO IGC.

References Anderson, Jane. 2010. Indigenous/Traditional Knowledge & Intellectual Property. Durham, NC: Centre for the Study of the Public Domain, Duke University School of Law. http://web.law. duke.edu/cspd/pdf/ip_indigenous-traditionalknowledge.pdf. Accessed on 22 January 2016. Battiste, Marie Ann and James Youngblood Henderson. 2000. Protecting Indigenous Knowledge and Heritage : A Global Challenge. Purich’s Aboriginal Issues Series. Saskatoon: Purich. Bell, Catherine and Robert Paterson. 2003. “Aboriginal Rights and Repatriation of Cultural Property.” In Box of Treasures or Empty Box? : Twenty Years of Section 35, edited by Ardith Walkem and Halie Bruce, 103–147. Penticton, BC: Theytus Books, 2003. Crean, Susan, Caldwell Taylor and Greg Young-Ing. 2003. Handbook on Creator’s Rights. Toronto, Ontario: Creator’s Rights Alliance. http://www.creatorscopyright.ca/documents/ cra_handbook.pdf. Accessed on 29 January 2016. Henderson, Sakej. 2016. “Traditional Indigenous Knowledge.” In (Trans)Missions: The Protection and Transformation of Traditional Knowledge, edited by Greg Younging, 188–209. Penticton, BC: Theytus Books. Sterling, Shirley. 1997. “The Grandmother Stories: Oral Tradition and the Transmission of Culture” (doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia).

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World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO). 2002. “Traditional Knowledge – Operational Terms and Definitions.” Intergovernmental Committee on Intellectual Property and Genetic Resources, Traditional Knowledge and Folklore, Third Session, Geneva, June 13 to 21, 2002. WIPO/GRTKF/IC/3/9. http://www.wipo.int/edocs/mdocs/tk/en/.../wipo_grtkf_ ic_3_9-main1.doc. Accessed on 29 January 2016.

Jonathan A. Franklin

6 T  raditional Cultural Expressions and Cultural Institutions A Way Forward Indigenous peoples of the world have distinct knowledge about their environment, access to unique genetic material, and particular myths, songs, and other distinctive forms of expression. This knowledge and culture is intertwined, so the elements cannot be separated from each other or thought of as disconnected from each other. Diplomatic discussion in the intellectual property community uses three terms to define the scope of this intangible cultural heritage: “traditional knowledge”, “genetic resources”, and “traditional cultural expressions” (Graber, Kuprecht and Lai 2012, 157). Traditional knowledge includes awareness of and use of the environment, plant life, and agriculture in traditional life. Traditional knowledge ranges from understanding the potential pharmaceutical or agricultural benefits of a particular locally grown plant to knowing how to safely achieve controlled burns of land. If a large company harvests the plant, extracts the active ingredient from it, and markets it as a new drug or crop, the genetic resources from the plant could be extraordinarily valuable, forming the basis for a billion-dollar breakthrough. Genetic traits distinctive to the biological environment, including the DNA of the indigenous people themselves, are called “genetic resources” (CBD 1992, Article 2). While genetic resources are the basis of plant and animal matter, it is traditional knowledge that permits the community members to show others which plants are useful for specific purposes. Using this traditional knowledge might save years in the research process that stretches from sample collection in the field to approval by the United States Federal Drug Administration (FDA) or other agency. It is the traditional knowledge that would help a researcher start investigating the compound for the condition it was already being used for by the indigenous people. The protection of traditional knowledge and genetic resources have been considered extensively in the literature and are not the primary concern of this chapter. Instead, this chapter focuses on traditional cultural expressions, sometimes called expressions of folklore (UNESCO 1982), which include myths, songs, dances, and other expressions of the culture (WIPO 2014a; WIPO 2014c). In many cases, these traditional cultural expressions have been appropriated by others. Such traditional cultural expressions have been copied, performed, and sold as both local tourist wares and items made thousands of miles away and then dis-

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tributed worldwide. For example, Australian Aboriginal designs have been reproduced on carpets made in Indonesia (Janke 2003) and a sample of a traditional song has been used in a commercial remix (Guy 2002). Some see these re-uses as acceptable adaptations while others see them as misappropriations or worse. There currently exists a longstanding debate surrounding the protection of genetic resources, traditional knowledge, and traditional cultural expressions created and preserved by indigenous peoples, particularly over issues of their control, attribution, and unauthorized use. In many cases, traditional groups have created, preserved, and used traditional knowledge of genetic resources for generations. Many of these groups feel that they should control the genetic resources they had a hand in preserving, as well as the knowledge and cultural expressions that they have passed down from generation to generation. At the very least, they should not lose control of them to others who try to protect them as intellectual property or have them become uncontrolled as part of the public domain. The challenge is that once a traditional cultural expression or item of traditional knowledge becomes part of the global economy, whether as a design on a t-shirt or as an ingredient within a pharmaceutical, it is hard to remove it from the global intellectual property regime (Chander and Sunder 2004). At this time, there is no legal recourse for indigenous peoples whose ancient knowledge or expressions have been appropriated beyond the reach of their customary law. While transgressions within the group can be dealt with as they always have been, wrongdoing by outsiders is often in the realm of the larger majority legal system. While some indigenous peoples want the power to grant or deny permission to use their intangible cultural heritage, other peoples would prefer to benefit financially from their knowledge and creations through royalty streams, rights of attribution, and other very specific limitations based on the group’s customary law. In the late 1990s, member nations of the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO), a specialized agency within the United Nations, began discussing the idea of protecting traditional cultural expressions, along with traditional knowledge and genetic resources (WIPO 2015j). The Intergovernmental Committee (IGC) on Genetic Resources, Traditional Knowledge, and Folklore was created and guided by the WIPO General Assembly (WIPO 2015j). The IGC has now met for twenty-eight week-long sessions and has not come close to achieving broad multilateral agreement for the protection of these genetic resources, traditional knowledge, or traditional cultural expressions (Gopakumar 2014). The discussions have been complex, as member states present conflicting positions and some countries have changed their positions over time in response to national elections, changes in other international governmental organization positions, and external events, such as the need for affordable pharmaceuticals to respond



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to epidemics. These political realities increase the challenge of a widely acceptable, legally binding agreement in this area. UNESCO has also addressed this area with the 2003 Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage, but the Convention does not have any binding legal import or enforceable provisions (UNESCO 2003). This means that an indigenous people or a government could not sue the wrongdoers under this Convention. Just as all the member states within WIPO have strong disagreements with each other, no single perspective applies to all members of all indigenous peoples. Indigenous peoples have different criteria and goals in the protection of each type of information or work depending on very specific context within their culture. Some peoples seek economic benefits from traditional knowledge as a form of development while others seek to remove recordings of traditional cultural expressions from the public domain. In addition, these conflicting interests often exist both within a single group and between neighbouring groups; instead of simple boundaries on maps and discrete practices by region, there is currently a blurring and fluidity, both among indigenous cultures and between indigenous and non-indigenous cultures.

Positive vs Defensive Protection There are two primary approaches to the protection of intangible cultural heritage: positive protection and defensive protection. Assume that a plant exists that has been known for centuries to suppress the appetite of those who eat it. Positive protection would allow the indigenous people with knowledge of the plant’s benefits to obtain a patent on the plant’s active ingredient and therefore charge others for its use or refuse to license its use for as long as the patent lasts. In contrast, defensive protection would prevent a foreign company from coming in and patenting the active ingredient in the plant, but would not prevent the company from using it. Effectively, everyone could use the plant’s active ingredient without owing royalties to anyone else. While positive protection grants the group that exclusive right, defensive protection prevents someone else from gaining an exclusive right to use or license a plant (WIPO 2015a). WIPO addressed these issues because most countries use the legal mechanisms of patent law and copyright law to protect ideas or inventions. For most countries of the world, domestic intellectual property laws, including patent and copyright, are governed by a part of the World Trade Organization (WTO 1994). Patent law can provide positive protection in the form of a patent or defensive protection in the invalidation of a patent. Positive protection would exist when

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a person obtains a patent and prevents others from creating the same invention, even if the other party independently came up with the same idea. In the case of defensive protection, the Patent and Trademark Office determines that no one has a patent in the invention because the patented idea was known beforehand. International copyright law does not prevent parties from independently creating the same expression, whether a poem or dance (WTO 1994). Copyright law permits two creators who each independently created the same expression to each hold a copyright in their own work, even if the two works are identical. Currently, much of the literature that discusses protecting traditional knowledge and genetic resources discusses defensive protection, the ability to prevent someone else from getting a patent. However, such defensive protection is generally inapplicable to the protection of traditional cultural expressions because the primary type of protection for traditional cultural expressions such as folklore, folksong, or dance is copyright law. Application of copyright law to traditional cultural expressions provides numerous difficulties. (Riley 2000; Farley 1997). For the purposes of this chapter, the major problem is that traditional cultural expressions are old and have often been passed from generation to generation, so even with the long term of protection in copyright law, traditional cultural expressions are often in the public domain. This means they can be included in songs, films, and other media without permission of the creator. These uses are problematic for peoples who feel they should be able to control how their traditional cultural expressions are used, regardless of the colonial legal systems that have taken the traditional cultural expressions from them and put them in the public domain (Chander and Sunder 2004). This chapter will focus on the issue of protecting traditional cultural expressions and the role cultural institutions can play in respectfully presenting and preserving them.

Defining Traditional Cultural Expressions WIPO’s Intergovernmental Conference on Genetic Resources, Traditional Knowledge, and Folklore has had trouble defining exactly what is and is not a traditional cultural expression, but for this chapter an expression needs three elements to be considered a traditional cultural expression: (1) the expression must be the concrete product of intellectual activity; (2) it must be characteristic of the community’s social identity; and (3) it must be part of the community’s heritage (WIPO 2014a). The first prong – that the expression is the product of intellectual activity – constitutes a very low threshold; almost anything anyone



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creates meets this standard. A sacred site that has not been created or altered by people would not qualify as a traditional cultural expression, but a photograph of the site might, as the originality is in the photograph, rather than the site itself. With respect to the second factor, that requires the expression to be characteristic of a community’s social identity, the definition suggests that the party that determines whether the work is characteristic should be the group itself, rather than an outside body or the user of the work. The third factor, that requires that a work be used as part of the group’s heritage, is perhaps the most difficult to meet, as expert commentary suggests that it takes at least two generations of use, and likely three generations, before an expression can be considered part of a group’s heritage (WIPO 2006). Examples provided in the discussion of this definition indicate that most traditional cultural expressions are either visual or aural. Although sweaters and skirts are almost certainly not traditional cultural expressions, it is possible that particular fabric or knit patterns or extremely distinctive clothing might meet the requirement. Countries have suggested providing copyright and, possibly, traditional cultural expression protection for scents, including perfume and incense (Koelman 2006). It seems likely that traditional cultural expression status could extend to certain recipes or foods as well (WIPO 2001). These examples probably represent the extremes of possible protection for traditional cultural expressions; as cultural expressions gain utility – become for example, a medicine or a crop – they could cross over into the area defined as traditional knowledge, rather than traditional cultural expressions, and patent law-type protection would likely apply. Although remuneration for the use of traditional cultural expressions might not provide the same sized windfall as payment for the use of traditional knowledge or genetic resources, the protection of traditional cultural expressions definitely raises economic and development issues (Finger and Schuler 2004). The goal of the IGC to “recognize value”, “promote respect”, and “empower communities” (WIPO 2006, Annex 3) encompasses more than economic value; however, some parties feel that payment for use of traditional cultural expressions is an untapped area of funds that could be used by communities to help them develop further. Income from the licensing or sale of items with traditional designs or songs could fund a local business to produce other respectful items embodying cultural values. Some countries have seized on this bootstrapping potential of traditional cultural expressions. One of the larger problems with the protection of traditional cultural expressions, whether they are protected through copyright or some other law, is that for the law to be effective it needs to have enforceable penalties. In this case, an indigenous people or their agent must be able to get a court judgment against the

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party that misuses the traditional cultural expression and then go to the country where the violator has assets to enforce the judgment and get the payment. Multinational agreements often have a clause that permits non-enforcement of foreign judgments in cases that violate public policy or the ordre public. Because many developed and developing nations have doctrines that protect the use of intellectual property in situations that constitute fair dealing and freedom of expression, it would be difficult to globally enforce a broad prohibition on the use of traditional cultural expressions. The use of many traditional cultural expressions would likely fall within these doctrines and thus judgments against their use would be unenforceable. Moreover, even if a public policy exception is not built into the treaty, it might be difficult to take the judgments from the courts of countries that have strict protection of traditional cultural expressions and enforce them in countries like France or the United Kingdom, that have less strict protections. Protection for traditional cultural expressions is likely to be more limited than in countries that are wealthier. Many countries will refuse to enforce foreign judgments if they violate domestic public policy such as freedom of expression laws. Drafting a law to protect the dynamically changing sacred expressions from undesirable reuse is virtually impossible. Aside from informing everyone in the world that certain symbols are sacred or have just become sacred, such protection would create a tremendous chilling effect on the use of expressions where the user does not know the status. An enforceable legal regime that has perpetual terms of protection and exposes the violator to undefined damages would be extremely difficult to promote in the context of an internationally binding instrument. Even if protection was only for a limited term and damages were limited to a payment and/or apology, any regime would still need to address the challenge of regulating the use of sacred expressions across cultures that have exceptions and limitations such as fair dealing or freedom of expression as part of their legal regimes.

Beyond Legal Issues Even beyond the legal issues, the practical problems with international enforcement of protections for traditional cultural expressions are manifold. First, the infringed people would need a mechanism to identify violations occurring thousands of miles away. Second, they would need the time and resources to contact the violators and demand that they cease the infringing behaviour. Third, if the violation continues, they would have to pay substantial legal fees to resolve the



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matter. This is an area where one could imagine establishing a nongovernmental non-profit that would act as an agent to pursue litigation on behalf of traditional cultures. Unfortunately, actual monetary damages for the misuse of traditional cultural expressions are likely to be far less than the cost of litigation itself. On some level, rather than being remunerative, litigation’s greatest impact would result from the media coverage and its role in educating the public about responsible use of traditional cultural expressions. Moreover, one effect of selective litigation is that it may become less expensive to use the traditional cultural expression and face a possible lawsuit than to go to the effort of getting prior informed consent. If small and remote violators use traditional cultural expressions without paying royalties or getting permission, indigenous peoples will be faced with a challenge of how best to protect their traditional cultural expressions. Even assuming that there exists a regime for global legal enforcement and that all practical problems have been addressed, the creation of a new revenue stream resulting from protection of traditional cultural expressions might create new tensions between neighbouring groups. If three groups all claim the right to license a particular form of expression, an outside entity might negotiate with all three concurrently, seeking the lowest royalty rate. This dynamic would pit the groups against each other and lead to a race to the bottom where each is trying to undercut the other two. Although this is the likely outcome, there are strong arguments that this should not be a concern when crafting a protection scheme for traditional cultural expressions. Indigenous peoples are entitled to sovereignty and self-determination; concerns between indigenous peoples should be left to them to resolve. If indigenous peoples are granted sovereignty and self-determination, an additional challenge to specialized legislation related to traditional cultural expressions is the natural inclination of indigenous peoples to define the scope of protected traditional cultural expressions as broadly as possible to maximize the number of protected traditional cultural expressions (United Nations 2007). Constraining the definition solely to “sacred” traditional cultural expressions or limiting it to a particular time period within a legal system does a disservice to both the culture and to society at large. On some level, even though protecting sacred symbols from abuse is central to the needs of these groups, it is perhaps the area for which a legislative solution is most challenging and one best addressed through case-by-case negotiations as the issues arise.

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Beyond Economic Value, Respect Beyond economic issues, the call to protect traditional cultural expressions is also a call for respect and acknowledgment. While patents have the potential to raise millions of dollars in royalties, it is unlikely that protecting traditional cultural expressions would be nearly as remunerative. If the primary goal in creating an internationally binding legal vehicle to protect traditional cultural expressions is to gain attribution, respect, and cross-cultural awareness, perhaps a non-legal vehicle, such as a media campaign, could perform this function better. Cultural institutions play a central role in creating an environment of respect, attribution, and acknowledgment for traditional cultural expressions and the cultures that created them. Whether or not there is a legal regime in place to protect and license traditional cultural expressions, one of the greatest challenges is balancing the need to prevent the misuse of sacred or culturally sensitive expressions without entirely stifling those who have a desire to re-use them. The traditional cultural expressions may carry powerful symbolism when described, displayed, or performed in public. Once these expressions are conveyed in context, particularly to those outside the group, they may be taken away and used in culturally insensitive ways. Once the expressions are carried away from the culture, whether by recording or by memory, it is extremely hard to prevent those expressions from being reused in other contexts. Yet a further complication to protecting culturally sensitive expressions from misappropriation, sometimes called misuse, is the fact that cultures change over time; sacred or sensitive expressions can become secular or unrestricted and vice versa. The dynamic nature of culture will continue to challenge any attempt to create a structure or framework that covers the multitude of traditional cultural expressions and their continuous change within their respective cultures over hundreds and thousands of years. More recent iterations of age old traditional cultural expressions will be protected by traditional copyright law, but copyright law cannot and will not reach back in time to protect those expressions for which the term of protection has ended. Libraries, museums, and archives, which have recently become leaders in developing codes of conduct for culturally sensitive traditional cultural expressions, attempt to reconcile these issues as they arise while having stated goals that balance the competing interests of the parties involved (Torsen and Anderson 2010). Beyond creating and following codes of conduct, cultural institutions can be sensitive in the processes that they use to arrive at these codes. If it is a cooperatively drafted document between indigenous peoples and cultural institutions that is created over time through dialog and not frozen and forgotten once



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completed, the process of creation and updating can bring about benefits that go well beyond the word of the document itself.

The Role of the Cultural Institutions in Supporting the Protection and Preservation of Traditional Cultural Expressions Cultural institutions can also play a role in helping indigenous people to preserve their own traditional cultural expressions. Currently, historical records that include traditional cultural expressions are preserved in libraries, museums, and archives around the world. However, many of these records were created by others. Anthropologists recorded performances, travellers described what they saw in their journals, and scholars analysed artworks that included traditional cultural expressions. Under copyright law, the creator of the record – in these cases the anthropologist or the traveller – is the one who would gain copyright in the recording. To avoid this problem, indigenous peoples are currently using the latest digital tools to record text, audio, and video of elders and others who have in-depth knowledge of their own people’s expressions (WIPO 2015b). These recordings are being made to preserve information and as a way for the next generation to learn from their elders. Members of the indigenous people do all the recording, coding, and data collecting, thus preventing the expressions from leaking out during the recording and entry process. Moreover, the authors of these photographs and audio and video recordings will hold the copyright in them and be able to prevent reuse in most cases. The complete documentation of a traditional cultural expression is an immense task because such documentation must include information about the ownership of the expressions. For each indigenous people, there is a distinct legal system, broadly called customary law. Each people will have their own rules embedded in their customary law about the identities of those who are permitted to or prohibited from making, seeing, and using each traditional cultural expression. In addition, the documentation could include details about the content of each expression and its meaning over time. As the meanings of a traditional cultural expression change over time due to the birth of new generations and to broader cultural shifts, the ownership information maintained within the digital library will need to reflect these changes. These traditional cultural expression documentation and preservation projects include real world challenges beyond the data gathering, notably reliable power and computing infrastructure, the

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need for extensive follow-through and maintenance of the changing information, and ongoing funding. When recording traditional cultural expressions for preservation, those who created the expressions will have the greatest incentive to describe and preserve them for future generations. However, the Elders with the most knowledge may not have the technological skills to record the information themselves. A project to preserve and document traditional cultural expressions has the potential to bring generations together. Having the people make these libraries accessible to those within the group helps pass along the traditional cultural expressions to generations that have not been born yet, even if some of the current group members have little interest in these traditional cultural expressions. Peoples who want to protect and preserve their traditional cultural expressions might not want the content of their library to be accessible to the entire world. In contrast to a library of traditional cultural expressions, a library of traditional knowledge can be used as defensive protection against outsiders patenting inventions based on traditional knowledge. A proposed patent can be declined by the patent office if there is “prior art” because the proposed invention is not novel. In the case of companies wanting to patent inventions based on traditional knowledge, a library of traditional knowledge can be used to prove there is prior art, making it much harder to patent inventions based on traditional knowledge in a library. Unlike a database of patentable information where the goal of the library is to prove that the traditional knowledge preexisted the proposed invention, there is no incentive to make the digital library of traditional cultural expressions publicly accessible if doing so is not in the best interest of the group.

Reclamation of Access to Recordings of Traditional Cultural Expressions The creation of a digital library of traditional cultural expressions that have already been disseminated beyond the culture can also benefit an Indigenous people. This is particularly true for forgotten or lost traditions that may be preserved in another format or context beyond the group’s borders, whether in the local library or in a museum halfway around the world. One of the largest challenges in creating such a library is that photographers, videographers, recordists, and authors likely own the copyright in works that depict traditional cultural expressions. Clearing the copyright in these works to include them in a digital library will take time, effort, and funding. Instead of a complex and time consuming process of having to clear rights item by item, a better approach would be



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an exception or limitation to copyright law that would permit indigenous peoples to include these works in their traditional digital library, regardless of the copyright holder. This exception would facilitate the creation of an essential cultural resource. Such a right would permit the group to digitize films, sound recordings, and other documents of and about their culture and incorporate these films into their database. An additional benefit of such a change is that it would eliminate the concern of intermediaries that they might be liable for permitting the group to reproduce their own traditional cultural expressions when the copyright is held by someone else. Although copying the traditional cultural expressions for the group’s library would likely already be permissible in some jurisdictions, particularly if it is a noncommercial use, those with an interest in creating such a right should create a narrow and explicit exception while still being able to rely on broader exceptions and limitations with copyright law. One challenge to the creation of such a right is determining how to balance the concerns of the various parties. The copyright holder might not want anyone to copy the film of a dance that is held by an archive. The group might want to preserve it or digitize it without making it accessible to those outside the group. The archivist might worry that if the group’s membership declines, the database of traditional cultural expressions might vanish or cease to be maintained. Legislators might not want to adopt politically unpopular or convoluted language that could later be expanded in unpredictable directions. In developing a digital library, it should still be up to the group itself to collect and digitize the content, as well as to determine who in the group should have access to each particular expression. Although access should not necessarily be restricted to just members of the group, the group should have control over who can access the works in their library. In the case of declining membership of the group or disrepair of the library, the content would ideally be passed along to an established archive that could maintain it in a responsible manner while respecting the group’s traditions and cultural prohibitions. Encrypting the library or using digital rights management would technologically prevent outside groups from accessing or duplicating works, even if fair use or fair dealing would have applied. If the works that the indigenous peoples wanted to add to their library were technologically protected, there would likely be a risk of loss if the encryption key were lost, so steps should be taken to ensure the system is secure. One challenge with this approach to protection of traditional cultural expressions is that wealthy indigenous peoples will be able to travel the world scouring libraries, archives, and museums to create a spectacular library of their traditional cultural expressions, should they want to. Meanwhile, indigenous peoples of lesser means or support will not be able to take advantage of such a newly clarified right or the accompanying technologies that could be used to document

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their traditional cultural expressions. Without grant programmes or some other means of levelling the playing field, wealthier indigenous peoples will better be able to preserve their cultures than other groups.

Is Intellectual Property Enough? Even with current intellectual property protection, digital libraries, and agents to represent traditional cultures in negotiations with licensees of traditional cultural expressions, the question remains whether this approach is sufficient to protect traditional cultural expressions. Clearly for those who want perpetual and retroactive protection, the answer is “No”. For those who feel the status quo is adequate or primarily stand to gain from the reuse of traditional cultural expressions, the answer is “Yes”. To the extent that there can be a middle ground, both are right. A regime that balances these two perspectives is about as much as the legal system can do to protect traditional cultural expressions, but is inadequate for what each side considers equitable and necessary. In conclusion, no two cultures or peoples are the same. They have different beliefs, structures, and laws. As such, no single law or even legal structure will fit all groups. Instead of spending time trying to craft the elusive perfect law, a better approach might be to develop a coordinated educational media strategy related to traditional cultural expressions and their perceived misuses from a moral, rather than a legal, perspective. If the use of a sacred symbol as a tattoo on a non-member of the people is sacrilegious, it is likely not intended as such. Potentially more effective than lawsuits would be educating those who consume traditional cultural expressions. Although this will not reach “bad actors”, education and publicity by both indigenous peoples and cultural institutions can help others to make the right decision. Education is not a panacea for the misuse of traditional cultural expressions for the same reason that traditional knowledge digital libraries have challenges in preserving traditional cultural expressions appropriately without concurrently publicizing those very same expressions. If a group publicises that a particular tattoo is inappropriate, for every person who chooses not to get it there will be others who choose to get it either because they liked what they saw and ignored the message or because they want to express themselves by flaunting their disregard for the desires of others and illustrating their nonconformity. As such, education surrounding the use of traditional cultural expressions faces a catch-22. However, without education, it will be hard to convince large populations to be more thoughtful when using traditional cultural expressions.



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References Chander, Anupam, and Madhavi Sunder. 2004. “The Romance of the Public Domain.” California Law Review 92(5):1331–1373. Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD). 1992. “Text of the CBD.” http://www.cbd.int/ convention/text. Accessed on 28 May 2015. Dagne, Tesh. 2014. “Protecting Traditional Knowledge in International Intellectual Property Law: Imperatives for Protection and Choice of Modalities.” The John Marshall Review of Intellectual Property Law 14(1):25–49. Farley, Christine Haight. 1997. “Protecting Folklore of Indigenous Peoples: Is Intellectual Property the Answer.” Connecticut Law Review 30(1):1–57. Available at SSRN: http://ssrn. com/abstract=923410. Accessed on 13 February 2016. Finger, J. Michael, and Philip Schuler. 2004. Poor People’s Knowledge: Promoting Intellectual Property in Developing Countries. Washington, DC: World Bank; Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gopakumar, K. M. 2014. “WIPO: Failure to Reach Consensus, ‘No Decision’ Adopted on Four Issues.” Infojustice.org, 2 October. http://infojustice.org/archives/33342. Accessed on 29 May 2015. Graber, Christoph Beat, Karolina Kuprecht, and Jessica C. Lai. 2012. International Trade in Indigenous Cultural Heritage: Legal and Policy Issues. Cheltenham, England: Edward Elgar. Guy, Nancy. 2002. “Trafficking in Taiwan Aboriginal Voices.” In Handle with Care: Ownership and Control of Ethnographic Materials, edited by Sjoerd R. Jaarsma, 195–209. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. Janke, Terri. 2003. Minding Culture: Case Studies on Intellectual Property and Traditional Cultural Expressions. Geneva: World Intellectual Property Organization. http://www.wipo. int/edocs/pubdocs/en/tk/781/wipo_pub_781.pdf. Accessed on 29 May 2015. Koelman, Kamiel. 2006. “Copyright in the Courts: Perfume as Artistic Expression?” WIPO Magazine 5. http://www.wipo.int/wipo_magazine/en/2006/05/article_0001.html. Accessed on 29 May 2015. Riley, Angela R. 2000. “Recovering Collectivity: Group Rights to Intellectual Property in Indigenous Communities.” Cardozo Arts & Entertainment Law Journal 18 (1):175–226. Torsen, Molly and Jane Anderson. 2010. Intellectual Property and the Safeguarding of Traditional Cultures: Legal Issues and Practical Options for Museums, Libraries, and Archives. Geneva: World Intellectual Property Organization. http://www.wipo.int/edocs/ pubdocs/en/tk/1023/wipo_pub_1023.pdf. Accessed on 29 May 2015. United Nations. General Assembly. 2007. “United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.” http://www.un.org/esa/socdev/unpfii/documents/DRIPS_en.pdf. Accessed on 26 May 2015. United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). 2003. Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage. http://unesdoc.unesco.org/ images/0013/001325/132540e.pdf. Accessed on 29 May 2015. United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). 2015. Intangible Cultural Heritage. http://www.unesco.org/culture/ich/. Accessed on 29 May 2015. United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). 1982. Model Provisions for National Laws on the Protection of Expressions of Folklore Against Illicit

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Exploitation and other Forms of Prejudicial Action. http://www.wipo.int/wipolex/en/text. jsp?file_id=184668. Accessed on 1 May 2015. World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO). 2001. Intellectual Property Needs and Expectations of Traditional Knowledge Holders. Geneva: World Intellectual Property Organization. ―. 2006. The Protection of Traditional Cultural Expressions/Expressions of Folklore: Revised Objectives and Principles. Geneva: World Intellectual Property Organization. http://www. wipo.int/meetings/en/doc_details.jsp?doc_id=144441. Accessed on 28 May 2015. ―. 2011. Background Brief No. 2, The WIPO Intergovernmental Committee on Intellectual Property and Genetic Resources, Traditional Knowledge and Folklore. Geneva: World Intellectual Property Organization. http://www.wipo.int/export/sites/www/tk/en/ resources/pdf/tk_brief2.pdf. Accessed on 28 May 2015. ―. 2014a. The Protection of Traditional Cultural Expressions: Draft Articles. Geneva: World Intellectual Property Organization. http://www.wipo.int/meetings/en/doc_details. jsp?doc_id=276220. Accessed on 28 May 2015. ―. 2014b. The Protection of Traditional Knowledge: Draft Articles. WIPO/GRTKF/IC/28/5.http:// www.wipo.int/meetings/en/details.jsp?meeting_id=32091. Accessed on 28 May 2015. ―. 2014c. Glossary of Key Terms Related to Intellectual Property and Genetic Resources, Traditional Knowledge and Traditional Cultural Expressions. Geneva: World Intellectual Property Organization. http://www.wipo.int/meetings/en/doc_details.jsp?doc_ id=275045. Accessed on 28 May 2015. ―. 2015a. Traditional Knowledge. http://www.wipo.int/tk/en/tk/. Accessed on 29 May 2015. ―. 2015b. Training Program. http://www.wipo.int/tk/en/resources/training.html. Accessed 29 on May 2015. World Trade Organization (WTO). 1994. Agreement on Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPs). https://www.wto.org/english/tratop_e/trips_e/t_agm0_e.htm. Accessed on 29 May 2015.

Brigitte Vézina1

7 C  ultural Institutions and the Documentation of Indigenous Cultural Heritage Intellectual Property Issues

Introduction The Return to Innocence Case There are few more exhilarating sporting events than the Olympic Games. The 1996 Atlanta Summer Olympic Games were no exception. Each day, millions of television viewers from around the world would tune in to the official broadcasts to follow the competitions. And almost inevitably, during commercial breaks, viewers would watch the Games’ official advertisement whose theme featured a well-known excerpt from the hit song, Return to Innocence,2 by the popular German world music group Enigma (Tan 2008). As the hymn echoed worldwide, two elderly farmers, Kuo Ying-nan and his wife Kuo Hsiu-chu, members of the Ami tribe, an indigenous minority group,3 recognized their voices in the Return to Innocence recording (Chang 2010; Esarey 1995). The song is said to form an integral part of the Ami culture. The two performers had never been contacted by Enigma for the use of their voices, nor had Enigma credited their contribution or made any payments to them. Therefore, supported by a local record company, the performers launched a series of lawsuits in 1998 against Enigma, its publisher, and record company in the United States for copyright infringement, namely for unauthorized use of their performance.

1 Brigitte Vézina is Legal Officer, Traditional Knowledge Division, World Intellectual Property Organization. The views expressed in this chapter are not necessarily those of WIPO or any of its Member States. Any mistakes or errors are the author’s own responsibility. 2 Described as “exotic and ambient”, the 1993 song was a global, smashing success and received widespread acclaim; it quickly became one of the group’s most popular international singles, topping the charts in dozens of countries. See Wikipedia (2015b). 3 The Ami are the largest indigenous minority group among aboriginal tribes in Taiwan, People’s Republic of China.

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Those procedures revealed how Enigma had gotten access to the Kuos’ recording: in 1988, the couple’s performances had made their way, unbeknownst to them, onto a compilation recording, produced by the French Maison des Cultures du Monde, of Taiwanese aboriginal songs to be used for heritage preservation and educational purposes.4 After hearing this compilation, Enigma had sought and obtained permission against payment of a fee from Maison des Cultures du Monde to use a two-minute sample of the voices in order to create the musical composition Return to Innocence, interweaving the voices with layers of electronic sounds (Wong 1999). However, Enigma had not sought to determine the identity of the singers, contact them, or seek their permission for the use of their voices. In fact Enigma stated that they had been led to believe that the recording was in the public domain and said that they had not intentionally violated copyright (Wikipedia 2015b). While the Return to Innocence case eventually ended in 1999 in an outof-court settlement for an undisclosed amount of money, compelling Enigma to acknowledge the Kuos’ contribution to the song in all subsequent releases (Guy 2002; Goswami and Karubakee 2008), thereby signalling a recognition of Ami oral culture,5 it drew global attention to the cultural traditions of indigenous peoples from around the world, affirming their existence and leading to a revitalization of vanishing traditions, cross-cultural dialogues, and cultural diversity (Coombe 2005). What the case also achieved was to generate heightened awareness of, but also controversy over, cultural ownership and copyright protection of indigenous cultural heritage. Today, for many indigenous peoples, protecting their intellectual property rights over culturally distinctive forms of creativity has become part of their engagement for cultural survival.

4 Some sources indicate that the performance had been collected and recorded in 1978 by Taiwanese ethnomusicologist Hsu Tsang-houei. Hsu had deposited this and other Taiwan aboriginal recordings at the Maison des Cultures du Monde in 1988. Some of the 1978 recordings were in turn issued, together with new material, on the album Polyphonies vocales des aborigènes de Taiwan (1989). See Wikipedia (2015a). 5 The case enabled the establishment of a foundation for the preservation and revitalization of Ami tribal music.



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A Tension Between Cultural Heritage Documentation and the Rights and Interests of Indigenous Peoples This story is relatively well known. There are many more cases where traditional music has been sampled and included in best-selling pop hits without any involvement of the tradition bearers.6 There are, in fact, numerous cases in which third parties have commercially exploited cultural traditions without acknowledging their holders, let alone seeking their consent or sharing the benefits deriving from their exploitation. What is not always apparent in those cases is that the appropriated cultural material is often initially made available by cultural institutions that serve as repositories of such materials for safeguarding, curatorial, educational, or research purposes. Indeed, thanks to new technologies and an increased awareness of the importance of preservation, cultural heritage is being documented and made available to the public on an unprecedented scale. Museums, libraries, archives, inventories, registries, galleries, and other cultural institutions7 are actively involved in the documentation, preservation, dissemination, safeguarding, promotion, and making accessible for future generations the collections of the world’s cultural heritage.8 And while many cultural institutions embark on documentation initiatives, few are aware of or know how to work out the issues of indigenous intellectual property rights and interests that accompany those initiatives every step of the way. Those issues arise from the growing interests of indigenous peoples in owning, controlling, and accessing documentation of their cultures held by cultural institutions that “often include invaluable, even unique, records of ancient traditions, lost languages and community histories, which are vital to indigenous peoples’ sense of identity” (WIPO 2005, 24). In the words of expert Henrietta Fourmille, Centre for Indigenous History and the Arts, University of Western Australia, the crux of the problem 6 See, for example, the case of “Deep Forest,” which had similar attribution concerns. I further discuss the case in “Are they in or are they out? Traditional Cultural Expressions and the Public Domain: Implications for Trade” (Vézina 2012). 7 For brevity these are collectively referred to as “cultural institutions” throughout this chapter. 8 The author acknowledges that various stakeholders may be taking part in a documentation exercise, all having different needs and roles. They may include tradition-bearers and their legal or policy advisors; individuals (such as ethnologists, folklorists, and anthropologists); research, educational or cultural institutions; private sector partners; and government and public sector agencies (especially Ministries of Culture). This chapter focuses solely on documentation activities undertaken by cultural institutions.

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from an indigenous perspective is that the “information collected about us is simply not owned by us” (WIPO 2005, 24). The major concern that this chapter seeks to address is the use of material in the collections of cultural institutions without permission, acknowledgment, or compensation to their indigenous holders. Concisely, some worry that the very process of documentation of the cultural heritage of indigenous peoples, whatever the purposes, goals, objectives, or outcomes, may open the door to its misappropriation (Vézina 2010). More broadly, the activities aimed at documenting cultural heritage pose unique and complex cultural, legal, and ethical questions and introduce the question of intellectual property law, policy, practice, and management into the preoccupations of cultural institutions. This chapter will try to identify the role that cultural institutions could play in preventing such misappropriation and in ensuring respect for the intellectual property rights and interests of indigenous peoples.

Outline This chapter will: (1) give an overview of the merits of cultural heritage documentation; (2) present the risks that the documentation activities entail for indigenous holders of cultural heritage; and (3) provide a series of ideas to help cultural institutions manage the intellectual property issues that they face.

The Importance of Cultural Heritage Documentation by Cultural Institutions It goes without saying that the documentation of cultural heritage finds legitimacy in many of its laudable objectives. But before exploring its merits, let us clarify a few key terms that are at the centre of this paper, namely cultural heritage, traditional cultural expressions, and documentation.

A Note on Key Terms The 1972 UNESCO Convention on World Heritage and the 2003 UNESCO Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage offer definitions of



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the term cultural heritage and, as this chapter does not have the ambition to offer alternative definitions, it will rely on those. And while “no single definition would fully do justice to the diverse forms of ... expressions that are held and created by Indigenous peoples ... throughout the world” (Abbott, Cottier and Gurry 2007, 659), the World Intellectual Property Organization uses a working description, whereby those forms are, in intellectual property discourse, designated under the term “traditional cultural expressions” (or “expressions of folklore”), a term that corresponds roughly to the subject matter of the 2003 UNESCO Convention (WIPO 2015f). Briefly, traditional cultural expressions are any form in which traditional culture and knowledge are expressed, appear, or are manifested. They can be, for instance, songs, dances, designs, handicraft, tales, performances, theatre plays, etc. handed down through generations; they are living, evolving products of creative intellectual activity that are created and maintained by a community, reflecting its identity, history, values, and beliefs. Furthermore, for the purposes of this chapter, “documentation” refers to all the means of “materializing” or giving concrete and tangible form to elements of cultural heritage, either in the form of their collection, registration, recording, identification, digitization, accessioning, inventorying, cataloguing, transmission, presentation, display, dissemination, or other method.9 Where traditional cultural expressions are concerned, it may refer to the audio and audiovisual recording (analogue or digital), photographing or written descriptions of traditional spoken stories, songs, interviews of the bearers of traditions, festivals, rituals, performances, and of objects of beauty and use, such as textiles or pottery. Documentation is often “different from the traditional ways of preserving and passing on ... traditional cultural expressions within [communities]” (WIPO 2015g). It is also different from intellectual property protection10 and the mere documentation of cultural expressions cannot stand alone as an effective strategy for ensuring their legal protection (WIPO 2012b).

9 For a detailed discussion, see WIPO (2011). The ICOM guide Running a Museum also provides a definition (ICOM 2004, 207). 10 Intellectual property refers to creations of the mind, the fruits of human creativity and innovation, such as inventions; literary and artistic works; designs; and symbols, names and images used in commerce. Intellectual property is protected in law by, for example, patents, copyright and trademarks, which enable people to earn recognition or financial benefit from what they invent or create. By striking a balance between the interests of innovators and the wider public interest, the intellectual property system aims to foster an environment in which creativity and innovation can flourish. For more information on intellectual property in general, see WIPO (2012c).

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Promotion and Protection of Cultural Diversity and Creativity Documentation of cultural heritage through increased access and exchanges may contribute to protecting and promoting cultural diversity. This includes the documentation of the rich variety of cultural goods, services, and activities that artists, cultural professionals, practitioners, and citizens worldwide create, produce, disseminate, and enjoy.11 It is argued that cultural diversity and creativity are engaged in a virtuous circle and can foster each other; hence, documentation can contribute to new creativity, enriching the body of material available to creators from different cultures.

Preservation, Safeguarding, and Promotion of Culture Documentation can be a useful strategy for cultural institutions to fulfill their mandate, which may include the preservation,12 conservation, promotion, and safeguarding13 of the rich cultural heritage forming the common memory of the world (WIPO 2003a). Broadly speaking, those activities essentially aim to ensure cultural heritage’s survival, revitalization, maintenance, continuity, or viability. In short, the objectives are to make sure that the traditional cultural expressions do not disappear, are maintained and promoted, and are preserved for the benefit of future generations.

Access and Dissemination to the Public Cultural institutions also serve educational, scholarly, research, cultural exchange, and global public access functions. Documentation may aim to make the tradi-

11 Cultural diversity is enshrined in the 2005 UNESCO Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions. 12 This term is defined in the World Heritage Convention (UNESCO 1972). 13 Safeguarding measures are described in the Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage (UNESCO 2003). In fact, documentation of intangible cultural heritage is a means to fulfil some of the obligations of states under the Convention through national inventories or registries.



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tional cultural expressions available to a wider public, including scholars and researchers, in recognition of their importance as part of the collective cultural heritage of humanity. Documentation can unearth precious cultural expressions that are relatively unknown beyond their community, thereby creating lasting resources for all of mankind. By making available the traditions of indigenous peoples, cultural institutions help to spread and promote a broader understanding and respect for different cultures.

Challenges Associated with Cultural Documentation Although documentation of cultural heritage is being undertaken widely across the world in a diverse range of settings and in furtherance of a variety of objectives, there is no formal consensus as to whether documentation is desirable in and of itself. While it may be considered necessary for a number of important cultural policy reasons, it also presents risks and challenges in view of the intellectual property rights and interests of traditional cultural expressions holders, principally indigenous peoples.14 In a few words, the issue that this chapter seeks to address is the following: documentation may lead to the greater exposure, availability, and accessibility of traditional cultural expressions, which in turn may inadvertently increase the capacity for the public to use them without restriction, especially when they are digitized and made available online. This may bring about risks of misuse or misappropriation, as the Return to Innocence case and myriad others demonstrate, chiefly in view of the fact that traditional cultural expressions are not fully protected by existing intellectual property systems: they are allegedly in the public domain, free for anyone to use. Hence, under intellectual property law, indigenous holders do not have (or have very little) legal recourse to oppose those uses. On the flip side, the documentation of cultural heritage creates intellectual property rights that often do not vest in the indigenous holders but in those who are responsible for the documentation, in many cases, cultural institutions. Let us deal with each of these aspects in greater depth.

14 This chapter does not address the need for cultural institutions to respect intellectual property rights in general, nor does it touch upon the determination of (physical) ownership of traditional cultural expressions held in the collections. It rather focuses on the consideration of the rights and interests of indigenous peoples in the traditional cultural expressions held in the collections of cultural institutions in the context of their documentation.

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Increased Risks of Misappropriation Through Documentation While recognizing the benefits that documentation by cultural institutions can offer for the preservation of their cultural heritage, indigenous tradition-bearers express concerns about the growing vulnerability to misappropriation that may come along and raise questions about intellectual property ownership and control over the representation of their cultures. “Misappropriation” is a term whose meaning is as elusive as its occurrence is pervasive. It may refer to unwanted or uncontrolled uses, or uses in ways not intended by the holders, or uses beyond the traditional circle that violate or contradict their wishes, values, customary obligations, rights or interests. Examples include use without prior informed consent, authorization or involvement; failure to acknowledge; unauthorized access to sacred and secret material; derogatory use; commercialization; and, failure to share benefits.15 Misappropriation may damage holders’ cultural and economic interests and lead to “cultural erosion and loss of cultural identity” (WIPO 2002, 2). The risk is aggravated when significant, sensitive, sacred, secret, private, or confidential elements of culture are concerned such as initiation rites or objects imbued with spiritual meaning. In the absence of proper protection, there is a tendency for holders to become secretive and to prevent any access to their culture, at the risk of not seeing their culture thrive and survive therefore defeating the goals of cultural preservation and diversity. In short, ill-considered documentation projects can trigger concerns about the intellectual property protection of traditional cultural expressions or, more precisely, the lack thereof.

Lack of Intellectual Property Protection for Some Indigenous Elements of Cultural Heritage “The intersection of traditional cultural expressions with intellectual property law is complex” (Pantalony 2013, 15). Existing conventional intellectual property systems are ill-equipped to fully address the protection of traditional cultural

15 This chapter will use the term “misappropriation” in its broad sense so as to encompass its various facets.



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expressions.16 In fact, from an intellectual property standpoint, traditional cultural expressions are broadly treated as being in the public domain even though this characterization is highly contested.17 This has the immediate consequence that traditional cultural expressions are perceived to be free for use by anyone and for any purpose. Hence, solely relying on intellectual property, indigenous holders have no or very little legal ground to oppose uses by others. Nevertheless, some aspects are protected by current intellectual property systems. At the international level, the WIPO Performances and Phonograms Treaty (WIPO 1996) as well as the Beijing Treaty on Audiovisual Performances (WIPO 2012a) provide protection for performers of expressions of folklore.18 Also, copyright19 provides protection for derivative works where a contemporary adaptation or arrangement of old and pre-existing traditional materials can be sufficiently original to be afforded protection.20 Be that as it may, existing protection is limited to a few pockets that is often insufficient to prevent the kinds of uses that indigenous peoples are not ready to accept.

Creation of Intellectual Property Rights Through Documentation While traditional cultural expressions may be generally considered in the public domain, a fundamental step in the documentation process is their fixation in a material form. At that point, intellectual property rights – such as copyright, related rights, as well as database protection – are likely to arise (WIPO 2015k, 5). For instance, written accounts derived from oral narratives, digitized format of 16 For example, copyright law is founded on the identification of the author of a work, whereas traditional cultural expressions’ authors are often unknown. Moreover, copyright protection is mainly concerned with facilitating commercial exploitation (notwithstanding the importance of moral rights), which conflicts with the non-fungible nature of most traditional cultural expressions. 17 For a discussion on the meanings of the public domain, see WIPO (2010) and Vézina (2012). 18 Performers’ rights are part of related rights, which are a separate set of copyright-type rights given to certain persons or bodies that help make works available to the public. The beneficiaries of related rights are usually performers, producers of phonograms, and broadcasting organizations. For an overview, see WIPO (2015e). 19 Copyright is a legal term used to describe the rights that creators have over their literary and artistic works (e.g. books, music, paintings, sculptures, films, computer programs, databases, maps, and technical drawings). For an overview see WIPO (2015b). 20 For a thorough analysis, refer to WIPO (2003a).

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analogue records, sound recordings, photographs, films, databases, etc. may all be subject to copyright or related rights protection. To whom do these new rights belong? Under current law, intellectual property rights vest in those persons or entities that document: the ethnomusicologist, the photographer, the filmmaker, the recordist, or the cultural institution, etc., and not in the holders of the underlying expressions. This means that in practice cultural institutions likely own the intellectual property rights and can control use of the documented materials. In cases of misappropriation, often the tradition-bearer is left without any recourse under intellectual property law because legally he or she is not the owner of the rights in the documented material.21 In order for the indigenous people to own the rights, they must acquire through contract the rights from the owners or undertake the documentation themselves.22

Suggestions for Addressing the Tension Various measures can be taken to address this tension between documentation and intellectual property protection, and these are clustered in this paper into (1) legal and (2) practical measures. The former falls squarely within the ambit of governments while the latter is within the purview of cultural institutions.

Legal Measures: A New Form of Protection for Traditional Cultural Expressions As we have seen, traditional cultural expressions as such (underlying and pre-existing) are currently not fully protected by existing international intellectual property systems. Before going any further, let us take a moment to outline the meaning of “protection”. Protection in the intellectual property sense is not protection against the passage of time or the natural elements. Concisely, it refers to protection against some form of unauthorized, undue, or illegitimate access, use or exploitation by third parties, such as reproduction or adaptation. 21 But refer to the Brandl case, where an Australian indigenous group managed to stop production of t-shirts depicting images of rock paintings, claiming copyright infringement in researcher Eric Brandl’s protected drawings and photographs of the rock art. For the full case study, see Janke (2003). 22 This is precisely the focus and objective of WIPO’s Creative Heritage Training Program (WIPO 2015d).



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Protection of traditional cultural expressions is not “an end in itself, but a means to reach broader policy goals and to respond to the needs of their holders” (WIPO 2012j, 20), which may touch on the respect for cultural rights, the promotion of cultural exchange and the encouragement of tradition-based creativity as an engine of development. Thus, the objectives of intellectual property protection range from the prevention of inappropriate, unwanted use, and commercialization by others to conferring the ability to control and exploit traditional cultural expressions, to ensuring remuneration for third party uses, acknowledgement, all the way to forbidding the acquisition of an intellectual property right by third parties. It is important to stress that intellectual property rights do not provide absolute and perfect control and cultural institutions in particular may benefit from important exceptions and limitations to intellectual property rights in furtherance of their mandates of conservation and dissemination to the public.23 There is an undergoing debate as to whether traditional cultural expressions should be protected as a new form of intellectual property. Be that as it may, normative processes are blooming nationally, regionally, and internationally, where sui generis forms of intellectual property protection, infused with principles and values drawn from existing intellectual property systems, as well as customary laws, practices, and values are taking shape. Dating back to 2000, WIPO’s normative work on the legal protection of traditional cultural expressions mainly takes place within the WIPO Intergovernmental Committee on Intellectual Property and Genetic Resources, Traditional Knowledge and Folklore (the IGC), where text-based negotiations are undertaken by member states todevelop, among other things, international legal instruments aimed at ensuring the effective protection of traditional cultural expressions.24 The work of the IGC is based on broad consultations with indigenous peoples and local communities, states, and other stakeholders. It strives not to undermine the preservation efforts of cultural institutions and to strike the right balance between intellectual property protection, preservation, and safeguarding. Special provisions on exceptions and limitations in the interests of, notably, heritage preservation, are included in the draft instrument on the protection of traditional cultural expressions. A vision of mutual supportiveness underpins the instrument’s relationship with other international instruments in the field of cultural heritage. 23 For more information about copyright exceptions and limitations for libraries and archives, see WIPO (2015c). 24 For more information on the IGC and the status of negotiation on draft international legal instruments, see WIPO (2015i).

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In parallel, a number of countries and regional organizations have developed legislation to give normative structure to the issues. A database for Traditional Knowledge, Traditional Cultural Expressions & Genetic Resource Laws reflects the diversity of approaches at regional and national levels (WIPO 2015h). While cultural institutions may not be directly involved in policy or law-making, there are many measures that they can take at the ground level that could “establish industry standards that may, over time, be pointed to as a standard of conduct, setting the course for legal rights” (Report of the Contemporary Visual Arts and Craft Inquiry 2002, 139).

Practical Measures: Strengthening Synergies within Cultural Institutions Cultural institutions lie at the tensed junction of various stakeholders’ needs and interests: on the one hand, creators, researchers, scholars, and the broader public wish to access, study, share, use, re-use, and re-create traditional cultural heritage held within the rich and varied collections of cultural institutions. On the other hand, indigenous peoples wish to prevent the misappropriation of their cultures. The difficulty for cultural institutions rests in finding an equitable balance between those eclectic and sometimes conflicting claims and interests. This search for mutually agreeable compromises introduces questions about the role of intellectual property law, policy, and practice in the documentation activities of cultural institutions. Given the high risks of undertaking a documentation exercise in an intellectual property vacuum, cultural institutions have every incentive to strategically manage intellectual property issues upfront. This entails the need to coordinate efforts to find strategies that support the objectives of preservation and safeguarding of traditional cultural heritage; promotion of cultural diversity and creativity; respect for traditional cultures; of wider, secure, and fair exchange of cultural heritage; and public access and enjoyment all the while promoting respect for the underlying rights and interests of indigenous peoples.25 A starting point could be the development of an intellectual property policy that would provide internal guidelines to prevent or at least reduce the risks of 25 For a thorough analysis of issues and options, readers are encouraged to refer to Torsen and Anderson (2010), which specifically deals with the management of intellectual property in relation to traditional cultural expressions’ collections. This publication offers intellectual property information and presents examples of best practices from around the world, drawn from various institutional and community experiences. See also Anderson (2005).



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misappropriation before, during, and after the documentation of traditional cultural expressions. In fact, institutions around the world have taken a variety of approaches to deal with the intellectual property implications of documentation.26 The policy could establish a general framework and refer to various intellectual property tools that could be put in place by the institution, examples of which are provided below.

Intellectual Property Related Guidelines With the participation of the indigenous tradition-bearers, where applicable, cultural institutions could develop codes, protocols, or guidelines to determine the conditions for display, access, and use of the documented cultural material. These could clarify the type of material being made available with due account of the secret or sacred nature of some material; the availability of the material either on site or online; the third parties entitled to access and make use of the material for example: members of the community, researchers, the general public, or others; the uses permitted such as reproduction by photography, photocopy, digitization, as well as adaptations, dissemination and distribution, etc.; the terms and conditions: prior authorization or free, prior and informed consent, compensation, acknowledgment, respect for customary laws; the private or commercial purposes of uses made by third parties. The list could go on. Besides, the guidelines could provide for a clearer relationship between the institution and the indigenous peoples whose traditional cultural expressions are comprised in the collection. For example, institutions could involve indigenous community members to take part in decision-making processes, or offer copies of the documented material to the communities for their own archives, or give their members privileged access. Limitations of space do not permit an exhaustive or more detailed survey of all possible options, especially since no single template or comprehensive onesize-fits-all solution is likely to suit all the needs of indigenous peoples in all countries.

26 WIPO makes available a searchable online database of examples of existing institutional guidelines, protocols, policies, codes and practices as well as and standard agreements and strategies relating to the recording, digitization and dissemination of cultural heritage, with an emphasis on intellectual property issues. The database also contains WIPO surveys and case-studies of experiences in several countries. See WIPO (2015j).

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Intellectual Property Model Contractual Clauses Cultural institutions may also draft model legally-enforceable intellectual property-related agreements or contracts such as deposit, access, release, and license agreements in order to determine rights and obligations of tradition-bearers as well as third party users especially when commercial use is envisaged. These could include frameworks for benefit sharing when derivative products such as postcards, posters, books, and CDs are sold. Several examples exist of licences, assignments, permissions, and other agreements that could be used as inspiration (WIPO 2015k).

Dealing with Digitization Intellectual property issues become more pressing as cultural institutions set up digital libraries of their traditional cultural expression collections where digitized material is made publicly available in “a variety of electronic media such as websites, CD-ROMs, databases, and other multimedia products” (WIPO 2003a, 76). Software and digital rights management tools may be used to technologically manage rights and interests in digitized collections. These may enable cultural institutions to: define and control the rights, accessibility and re-use of digital resources; prevent the misappropriation of indigenous heritage; and ensure proper acknowledgement of the traditional holders (Mukurtu 2016; Local Contexts 2015; WIPO 2003a). In conjunction therewith, the development of model intellectual property notices for use in connection with digitized cultural heritage could be useful.27

Management and Settling of Disputes Where disputes arise, their resolution may lead to the institution taking legal action or to seeking alternative modes of conflict settlement.28 Procedures for intellectual property-related dispute settlement could be made part of the general intellectual property policy where all other mechanisms in place would have failed to prevent conflict. 27 See for example, the legal notice “Legal and Ethical Usage” prepared by the British Library and WIPO (British Library 2015). See also Torsen and Anderson (2010). 28 For more information, see WIPO (2015a).



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Conclusion In a nutshell, cultural institutions are likely to be at grips with intellectual property issues when documenting the traditional cultural expressions of indigenous peoples. But these issues, although fundamental, may, for a number of reasons, remain at the periphery of institutions’ concerns, hardly forming part of the planning and implementation of documentation projects. In those circumstances, conflicts may occur “most obviously when preservation is undertaken without the authorization [of indigenous holders]. But this tension also arises when the process of [documentation] is undertaken with consent or involvement ..., but unwittingly or incidentally undermines protection of traditional cultural expressions – this can occur when material is documented without full understanding of the implications” (WIPO 2003a, 63).29 Efforts are being made at WIPO to increase awareness about intellectual property-related dangers carried by documenting the cultural heritage of indigenous peoples, especially the misappropriation of traditional cultural expressions. Work continues to offer resources and assistance to cultural institutions in this field. Cultural institutions have no small role to play to address the issues raised in this chapter. By establishing mutually beneficial relationships with indigenous peoples, which may then evolve into practical intellectual property instruments such as guidelines, protocols and other soft law tools as well as more formal contracts and agreements, cultural institutions may inform policy debate that in turn may help achieve normative consensus for the international intellectual property protection of traditional cultural expressions.

References Abbott, Frederick M., Thomas Cottier and Francis Gurry. 2007. International Intellectual Property in An Integrated World Economy. Alphen aan den Rijn: Aspen Publishers. Anderson, Jane. 2005. “Access and Control of Indigenous Knowledge in Libraries and Archives: Ownership and Future Use.” Conference Proceedings for Correcting Course: Rebalancing Copyright for Libraries in the National and International Arena, American Library Association, The MacArthur Foundation, and Columbia University, New York, May 2005. http://correctingcourse.columbia.edu/paper_anderson.pdf. Accessed on 25 January 2016.

29 To clarify the importance of prior informed consent, WIPO makes available an interview with ethnomusicologist Wim Van Zanten on prior and informed consent in ethnomusicology (Zanten 2015).

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British Library. “Legal and Ethical Usage.” http://sounds.bl.uk/Information/Legal-And-Ethical-Usage. Accessed on 5 May 2015. Chang, Chiung-Wen (Michelle). 2010. “’Return to Innocence’: In Search of Ethnic Identity in the Music of the Amis of Taiwan.” College Music Symposium 49. Coombe, Rosemary. 2005. “Cultural Rights and Intellectual Property Debates.” Human Rights Dialogue series 2:12. https://www.carnegiecouncil.org/publications/archive/ dialogue/2_12/section_3/5152.html/:pf_printable. Accessed on 5 May 2015. Esarey, Ashley. 1995. “An Ami Couple Seeks Recognition for their Music,” Travel in Taiwan special. https://www.sinica.edu.tw/tit/special/0996_Innocence.html. Accessed on 5 May 2015. Goswami, Ruchira and Nandi Karubakee. 2008. “Naming the Unnamed: Intellectual Property Rights of Women Artists from India.” Journal of Gender, Social Policy and the Law 16(2): 257–258. Guy, Nancy. 2002. “Trafficking in Taiwan Aboriginal Voices.” In Handle with Care: Ownership and Control of Ethnographic Materials, edited by Sjoerd R. Jaarsma, 195–206. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. ICOM. 2004. “Running a Museum: A Practical Handbook.” http://unesdoc.unesco.org/ images/0014/001410/141067e.pdf. Accessed on 5 May 2015. Janke, Terry. 2003. “Minding Culture: Case Studies on Intellectual Property and Traditional Cultural Expressions.” WIPO Pub. No. 781, 2002. http://www.wipo.int/edocs/pubdocs/en/ tk/781/wipo_pub_781.pdf. Accessed on 25 January 2016. Local Contexts.2015. http://www.localcontexts.org/. Accessed on 5 May 2015. Mukurtu. 2016. http:// mukurtu.org/. Accessed on 25 January 2016. Pantalony, Rina Elster. 2013. Managing Intellectual Property for Museums. [Geneva]: WIPO. Report of the Contemporary Visual Arts and Craft Inquiry. 2002. Canberra: Commonwealth Department of Communications, Information Technology and the Arts. Tan, Shzr Ee. 2008. “Returning to and from ‘Innocence’: Taiwan Aboriginal Recordings.” Journal of American Folklore 121(480): 222–235. Torsen, Molly and Jane Anderson. 2010. Intellectual Property and the Safeguarding of Traditional Cultures: Legal Issues and Practical Options for Museums, Libraries, and Archives. Geneva: World Intellectual Property Organization. http://www.wipo.int/edocs/ pubdocs/en/tk/1023/wipo_pub_1023.pdf. Accessed on 29 May 2015. UNESCO. 1972. Convention on World Heritage. http://whc.unesco.org/en/conventiontext/. Accessed on 25 January 2016. UNESCO. 2003. Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage. http:// www.unesco.org/culture/ich/en/convention. Accessed on 25 January 2016. UNESCO. 2005. Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions. https://en.unesco.org/creativity/convention/what-is/convention-text. Accessed on 25 January 2016. Vézina, Brigitte. 2010. “Traditional Cultures, Indigenous Peoples and Cultural Institutions.” WIPO Magazine 2: 23–25. Vézina, Brigitte. 2012. “Are they in or are they out? Traditional Cultural Expressions and the Public Domain: Implications for Trade.” In International Trade in Indigenous Cultural Heritage: Legal and Policy Issues, edited by Christoph Beat Graber, Karolina Kuprecht and Jessica Christine Lai, 196–220. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar. Wikipedia. 2015a. “Difang and Igay Duana.” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Difang_and_Igay_ Duana. Accessed on 5 May 2015.



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Wikipedia. 2015b. “Return to Innocence.” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Return_to_Innocence. Accessed on 5 May 2015. World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO). 1996. “WIPO Performances and Phonograms Treaty.” Accessed May 6, 2015. http://www.wipo.int/treaties/en/ip/wppt/. —. 2002. “Draft Outline of an Intellectual Property Management Toolkit for Documentation of Traditional Knowledge.” WIPO/GRTKF/IC/4/5, 2003. http://www.wipo.int/meetings/en/ doc_details.jsp?doc_id=15385 —. 2003a. “Consolidated Analysis of the Legal Protection of Traditional Cultural Expressions/ Expressions of Folklore.” WIPO Pub. 785, 2003. http://www.wipo.int/edocs/mdocs/tk/en/ wipo_grtkf_ic_5/wipo_grtkf_ic_5_3.pdf. Accessed on 1 February 2016. —. 2003b. “Summary and Introduction to the Toolkit for Managing Intellectual Property when Documenting Traditional Knowledge and Genetic Resources.” WIPO/GRTKF/IC/5/5. —. 2005. “Archives and Museums: Balancing Protection and Preservation of Cultural Heritage.” WIPO Magazine 5: 24–25. http://www.wipo.int/wipo_magazine/en/2005/05/ article_0010.html. Accessed on 6 May 2015. —. 2010. “Note on the Meanings of the Term “Public Domain” in the Intellectual Property System with Special Reference to the Protection of Traditional Knowledge and Traditional Cultural Expressions/Expressions of Folklore.” WIPO Document WIPO/GRTKF/IC/17/INF/8. —. 2011. “Intellectual Property and Sustainable Development: Documentation and Registration of Traditional Knowledge and Traditional Cultural Expressions, Background Paper prepared by the World Intellectual Property Organization for the International Technical Workshop on Documentation and Registration of Traditional Knowledge and Traditional Cultural Expressions.” WIPO Document WIPO/TK/MCT/11/INF/7, 2011. http://www.wipo.int/edocs/ mdocs/tk/en/wipo_tk_mct_11/wipo_tk_mct_11_inf_7.pdf —. 2012a. “Beijing Treaty on Audiovisual Performances.” http://www.wipo.int/treaties/en/ip/ beijing/. Accessed on 7 May 2015. —. 2012b. “Traditional Knowledge Documentation Toolkit, Consultation Draft.” http://www. wipo.int/export/sites/www/tk/en/resources/pdf/tk_toolkit_draft.pdf. Accessed on 5 May 2015. —. 2012c.“What is Intellectual Property.” http://www.wipo.int/about-ip/en/. Accessed on 6 May 2015. —. 2015a. “Background Brief No. 8 Alternative Dispute Resolution for Disputes related to Intellectual Property and Traditional Knowledge, Traditional Cultural Expressions and Genetic Resources.” http://www.wipo.int/export/sites/www/tk/en/resources/pdf/ tk_brief8.pdf. Accessed on 5 May 2015. —. 2015b. “Copyright.” http://www.wipo.int/copyright/en/. Accessed on 5 May 2015. —. 2015c. “Copyright Exceptions and Limitations for Libraries and Archives.” http://www.wipo. int/copyright/en/limitations/. Accessed on 7 May 2015. —. 2015d. “Creative Heritage Training Program.” http://www.wipo.int/tk/en/resources/ training.html. Accessed on 5 May 2015. —. 2015e. “FAQ on Copyright.” http://www.wipo.int/copyright/en/faq_copyright.html. Accessed on 6 May 2015. —. 2015f. “FAQ on Traditional Knowledge.” http://www.wipo.int/tk/en/resources/faqs.html. Accessed on 6 May 2015. —. 2015g. “Glossary of Key Terms Related to Intellectual Property and Genetic Resources, Traditional Knowledge and Traditional Cultural Expressions.” http://www.wipo.int/tk/en/ resources/glossary.html. Accessed on 6 May 2015.

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—. 2015h. “Laws and Legislative Measures.” http://www.wipo.int/tk/en/legal_texts/. Accessed on 7 May 2015. —. 2015i. “Intergovernmental Committee.” http://www.wipo.int/tk/en/igc. Accessed on 6 May 2015. —. 2015. Intellectual Property and Genetic Resources, Traditional Knowledge and Traditional Cultural Expressions: Overview. Geneva: World Intellectual Property Organization. http:// www.wipo.int/edocs/pubdocs/en/tk/933/wipo_pub_933.pdf. Accessed on 25 January 2016. —. 2015k. “Traditional Cultural Expressions – Existing Codes, Guidelines and Practices.” http:// www.wipo.int/tk/en/databases/creative_heritage/. Accessed on 6 May 2015. Wong, Victor. 1999. “Taiwan Aboriginal Singers Settle Copyright Lawsuit.” Billboard 111(31): 14. Zanten, Wim van. 2015. “Creative Heritage Ptoject: Intellectual Property Guidelines for Digitizing Cultural Heritage: Prior and informed consent, experiences with ethnomusicological resources in Indonesia”[video]. http://www.wipo.int/multimedia-video/en/tk/ ethnomusicology.ogg. Accessed on 5 May 2015.

Spencer C. Lilley

8 K  o Aotearoa Tenei: Indigenous Cultural and Intellectual Property Rights in Aotearoa New Zealand In 2011, the Waitangi Tribunal released its report into claims concerning New Zealand law and policy affecting Māori culture and identity. Known colloquially as WAI 262, the report was an attempt to distinguish between the unique characteristics of tikanga (Māori value system) and mātauranga Māori (Māori knowledge) and how these are represented in Western legal frameworks. The tribunal addressed the ownership and use of mātauranga Māori, cultural expressions, indigenous species of flora and fauna and inventions arising from Māori knowledge about these, all known as  tāonga  (treasures). The Waitangi Tribunal report made an extensive number of non-binding recommendations to the New Zealand Government, most of which have yet to be addressed. As cultural institutions, library and information agencies have extensive collections of Māori heritage items that could be considered as tāonga, thus bringing the preservation, access, ownership, and future control of these items into the spotlight, consequently providing these institutions with moral and ethical dilemmas to resolve. This chapter covers the background to the WAI 262 claim and other intellectual property initiatives of Māori, identifies the range of tāonga held in library and information institutions, and explores what the implications of the Waitangi Tribunal recommendations are for these institutions and the library and information profession.

Introduction Māori are the indigenous inhabitants of New Zealand, having migrated from eastern Polynesia approximately a thousand years ago. Māori lived in relative isolation until contact with the Western world occurred from 1642 onwards. In the early nineteenth century, Europeans in the form of missionaries, sealers, sailors and entrepreneurs began to settle in New Zealand. With rapidly increasing numbers of British settlers making New Zealand their home, and a perceived threat of strong interests from France and the United States, Great Britain was forced to annex New Zealand in 1840. The means of annexation was through the development of the Treaty of Waitangi, which was a formal agreement between the British Crown and the rangatira (chiefs) of New Zealand. The Treaty consists of three main articles, cover-

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ing the rights of British presence and governance, protection of Māori tāonga, and giving Māori an entitlement to the same rights and privileges as British citizens. The Treaty was drafted in English and translated into te reo Māori (Māori language) and inconsistencies between the two versions have been the cause of strong conflict between Māori and successive Governments. However, the rights of protection guaranteed by Article Two of the Treaty are at the forefront of the struggle for recognition of Māori cultural and intellectual property rights.

Cultural and Intellectual Property Rights Intellectual Property In most Western countries, intellectual property rights are defined as the rights that people (individuals or institutions) have over their intellectual creations (i.e., the creations of their minds). In New Zealand these rights are protected under legislation such as the New Zealand Copyright Act (1994), Designs Act (1953), Plant Variety Rights Act (1987), Patents Act (1953), and Trademarks Act (2002). The New Zealand government ensures that these statutes maintain their relevancies in contemporary times by frequently amending the core legislation to reflect the application and impact of modern technologies.

Cultural Property Protection of cultural property is more complex, since defining the scope of cultural property will typically differ between cultures. In most cases, however, it would be safe to say that it relates to items that can be seen and touched and, as such, represents the physical evidence of that particular culture’s development such as works of arts, or archaeological or historical objects. Like many indigenous peoples, Māori do not separate the concept of cultural property from that of intellectual property as the two are considered to be inextricably entwined. Therefore, it should be understood that when Māori are referring to their intellectual property rights that they are also being inclusive of their cultural property rights.



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Protection Another concern relates to the fact that most intellectual property laws offer limited periods of protection. Copyright normally exists for the life of an author plus fifty years. Limited protection allows the limitation of the scope and length of monopolies. Māori do not subscribe to this view as they believe that they are the guardians of their property for future generations. Once the protection period of intellectual property rights legislation lapsed there would be no guarantees that the intellectual and cultural property would remain in the domain of Māori.

Libraries and Other Cultural Institutions There is very little in the way of articles on Māori cultural and intellectual property rights in the New Zealand library and information literature. This is despite the fact that one intellectual property issue, copyright, is consistently a burning issue for the library and information professions. What does exist is largely in the domain of grey literature in the form of conference proceedings (Lilley 2008) and reports (Szekely 1997; Simpson 2005). Other more substantive and very useful pieces have been written by those from the art (Brown and Nicholas 2012), fashion (Jahnke and Jahnke 2003), and design sectors (Shand 2002) and the issues raised in these articles are easily applied to the library and information professions. However, the fact that these issues are largely absent from the literature means that the subject of Māori cultural and intellectual property rights matters are yet to fully make an impact on the consciousness and practices of library and information professionals.

Self-determination In defining the scope and nature of their intellectual and cultural property, Māori have actively sought to have their definitions recognized by the New Zealand government and private enterprises. In association with other indigenous peoples globally, Māori have also actively sought to have these rights recognized by key international organisations such as the United Nations and World Intellectual Property Office (WIPO). In New Zealand, Māori have based the exertion of these intellectual and cultural property rights on the guarantees made in the Treaty of Waitangi that was signed by Māori and representatives of the British Crown in 1840. Article Two of

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the Treaty guaranteed to Māori “the unqualified exercise of their chieftainship over their lands, villages and all their treasures” (Kawharu 1989, 319–320). The concept of self-determination on the world stage was reinforced by the Mātaatua Declaration on Cultural and Intellectual Property of Indigenous Peoples (Commission on Human Rights 1993), issued by delegates from fourteen countries who attended a conference on indigenous cultural and intellectual property rights in 1993 in Whakatane, New Zealand. The declaration made recommendations to all nation states, the United Nations, and indigenous peoples worldwide. The main themes focused on asserting the rights of ownership of customary knowledge, challenging Western notions of intellectual property law and their non-protection of indigenous customary knowledge and property rights, and the commercialization of traditional plants and medicines that should be controlled by the indigenous owners of the knowledge. Of direct relevance to cultural institutions, the Declaration stated that museums and other institutions provide an inventory of any indigenous cultural objects held in their possession. These objects should be offered back to their traditional owners. The Mātaatua Declaration and annual sessions of the United Nations Working Group on Indigenous Populations (WGIP) have helped to establish an international forum for indigenous intellectual property rights. The WGIP has been involved in drafting a Universal Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP). The draft declaration contains references to cultural and intellectual property rights in at least four articles. References to indigenous intellectual property rights were also made at the United Nations Conference on Environment and Development (the “Earth Summit”). Over two decades effort was put into the development of the UNDRIP. This was finally adopted by the United Nations in September 2007 (UN General Assembly 2007). Seventeen of the forty-five articles in this Declaration relate to the protection and promotion of indigenous cultural properties and the direct input of indigenous peoples into decisions about these issues. Although the Declaration was passed with a majority of 144 to 4, the four countries that did not vote for the Declaration were Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and the United States. In later years, all four non-signatories have now endorsed the Declaration with exclusions, including conditions that continue to leave indigenous cultural and intellectual property rights in a compromised position and as a contestable commodity.



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The Waitangi Tribunal In 1991, a claim was lodged with the Waitangi Tribunal by six claimants on behalf of their iwi (tribe). Their claim alleged that the New Zealand Government had failed to provide adequate protection for mātauranga Māori in the form of knowledge relating to Indigenous flora and fauna as well as cultural and intellectual property. This became known colloquially as the flora and fauna claim or WAI 262.1 The Waitangi Tribunal is a quasi-judicial body that was established in 1975 to provide Māori with the opportunity to lodge claims related to breaches of the Treaty of Waitangi by the Crown or its representatives. Initially, the tribunal was only able to consider claims from 1975 onwards, but in 1985 these powers were changed to allow retrospective grievances to be lodged back to when the Treaty was signed in 1840. The type and nature of claims considered by the tribunal fall into three categories: those associated with property rights (land, rivers, lakes, sea-beds); traditional rights (fishing, forests, natural resources); and cultural (language, education, broadcasting). Most claims in the cultural domain are perceived as breaches in the contemporary era. The process associated with claims can be extremely lengthy, as evidenced by WAI 262 which took twenty years to work its way from being lodged to being reported. This has led to many iwi to choose to directly negotiate a settlement with the Government rather than go through the tribunal hearings process. The advantages of direct negotiation are enhanced by the fact that the findings and recommendations of the tribunal are non-binding on the Government. This essentially puts claimants back in a position of needing to negotiate a settlement with the Government. The only exceptions to this are the recommendations and findings relating to claims involving the alienation of land and assets belonging to state owned enterprises.

The WAI 262 Claim The original claim lodged in 1991 focused on issues related to the collection and use of indigenous plants such as kumara (sweet potato) that had been brought from Hawaiiki for scientific research and for commercial ends (Waitangi Tribunal 2011). These concerns had been brought about by a growing awareness that these activities were taking place without Māori consent even when the research or commercialization was drawing on mātauranga Māori. The claimants also expressed a fear that there was a danger that this traditional knowledge was being 1 All claims made to the Waitangi Tribunal are assigned a claim number.

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lost along with indigenous plant species that provided the resources required to practice rongoā Māori (traditional Māori medicinal practices). The claim contested the status and nature of all legislation passed since the Treaty was signed that was related to the environment, making it the widest and most comprehensive environmental claim ever made to the tribunal (Wheen and Ruru 2004). The claimants’ contention was that successive actions by the Crown since 1840 had been contrary to their expectations of how their tino rangatiratanga (self-determination) would have enabled them to protect, control, conserve, manage, treat, sell, disperse, utilize, and restrict the use of indigenous flora and fauna. The claim was amended in 1997 to ensure that the tribunal was able to consider new developments in the field of intellectual property and New Zealand’s increasing participation in pursuing free-trade agreements, particularly the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT 1994). The new claim placed increased emphasis on the phrases tino rangatiratanga and me o ratou tāonga katoa (“and all their treasures”), with these including but not limited to mātauranga (knowledge), whakairo (carvings), waahi tapu (sacred places), biodiversity, genetics, Māori symbols and designs, their use and development, and associated cultural and customary heritage rights in relation to such tāonga. The amended claim provided a definition of tāonga, which stated that it included, “all the elements of a tribal group’s estate, ‘material and non-material, tangible and intangible’” (Waitangi Tribunal 2011, 4). The claim also provided a firmer definition of what tino rangatiratanga consisted of in regard to intellectual property and me o ratou tāonga katoa, including eight rights with the most relevant ones to cultural institutions such as libraries, archives, and museums being “the right to participate in, benefit from and make decisions about the application, development, uses and sale of me o ratou tāonga katoa” and “the right to protect, enhance and transmit the cultural and spiritual knowledge and concepts found in me o ratou tāonga katoa” (Waitangi Tribunal 2011, 5).

Tribunal Findings and Recommendations The Waitangi Tribunal completed its hearings in 2007 and delivered its findings to the New Zealand Government in June 2011, just under twenty years after the initial claim had first been accepted and registered in December 1991. The final report was published in two volumes (Waitangi Tribunal 2011) and covered the eight main points of inquiry, these being: 1. tāonga works and intellectual property; 2. genetic and biological resources of tāonga species;



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3. relationships with the environment; 4. tāonga and the conservation estate; 5. te reo Māori; 6. Crown control of mātauranga Māori; 7. rongoā Māori; and 8. role of international intellectual property instruments. The critical aspects of the findings and recommendations for libraries, archives, museums, and other heritage-focused institutions are those pertaining to what is defined as a tāonga work and the sections on te reo Māori and Crown control of mātauranga Māori.

What is a Tāonga Work? For the tribunal, one of the key priorities was to define what a tāonga work is; in attempting to define these it identified three distinct categories. The report identifies two distinctive factors that categorize such works. The first of these is that a tāonga work is one that has been created from “pre-existing and distinctive body knowledge, values, and insights we call mātauranga Māori” (Waitangi Tribunal 2011, 44). The second characteristic is that it is the “result of the effort and creativity of actual people whether in modern times or the distant past” (Waitangi Tribunal 2011, 44). In a recent Māori legal dictionary (Stephens and Boyce 2013), the customary usage of the term tāonga is that it refers to property or anything highly prized. This dictionary also refers to tāonga tuku iho and defines these as “cultural property or objects”. This definition, however, fails to recognize the inter-generational aspect as represented by tuku iho, which is typically characterized as having been received from ancestors. Marsden (2003) defines tāonga tuku iho as treasures that have been bequeathed. This definition aligns with the idea of tāonga being passed from one generation to the next. This is supported by Mead’s (2003) definition that describes tāonga tuku iho as a gift of the ancestors. Mead also describes a tāonga as a highly prized object. To distinguish tāonga works from other items that have a distinctly Māori flavour but are also influenced by Western and other cultural traditions, the tribunal has placed the emphasis on traditional resources or in the case of “written, spoken or performed tāonga they depend on the well-being of the language that is their vehicle – te reo Māori” (Waitangi Tribunal 2011, 44). With the link between tāonga works and mātauranga Māori, another distinctive feature is that such knowledge and traditions are protected by a kaitiaki (guardian) who is responsi-

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ble for protecting or safeguarding that cultural and/or intellectual property. Such individuals hold either a leadership role or are acknowledged as having expertise and are recognized as tohunga (experts) by their hapū (sub-tribe) or iwi. In libraries and archival institutions, examples of a tāonga work might include manuscripts, letters, written records of waiata (songs), whakapapa (genealogical records), and karakia (incantations) that have been recorded from ancestral knowledge. Examples from the museum sector would include historical artifacts such as whakairo (carvings), weaponry, jewellery and ornaments, tools, and clothing. To illustrate the difference between a tāonga work and other items that might be influenced by Māori cultural knowledge but are short of qualifying to be classified as tāonga works, it is possible within a library to identify books, journal articles, audio, and visual recordings as non-tāonga works under the definition that the tribunal has provided. In the museum sector, this might include contemporary examples of artifacts such as jewellery, ceramics, clothing or weapons (using modern tools rather than traditional ones), and items made by non-Māori. One of the key distinctions that individuals struggle with is defining what a tāonga is and what a tāonga work is. Items that have been created using non-traditional methods including books that focus on Māori tribal history, such as Best’s work on the Tuhoe tribe (Best 1925) or Kelly’s on the Tainui tribal federation (Kelly 1949) would struggle to meet the definition of a tāonga work under the definition provided by the Waitangi Tribunal. These tomes may still be treasured as a tāonga but are unlikely to have been compiled entirely from traditional knowledge. Influenced by Western thought, these were written by non-Māori and, therefore, under the definition being applied, they would not be considered to be a tāonga work. However, both these works contain much that is treasured by descendants of those iwi, most of all the whakapapa charts included within them. Works such as these are also no longer protected by Western copyright laws as the authors are both long deceased. As such, the respective tribal groups are powerless to stop them being reproduced by publishers in either paper or electronic form. The critical question that remains though is who has the right to decide what is a tāonga or what qualifies as a tāonga work? Should libraries and cultural institutions have the right to declare what is a tāonga work based on quasi-legal definitions or should the identification of what constitutes a tāonga or a tāonga work be defined by those who believe it has a special value to their whānau (family), hapū (sub-tribe), or iwi (tribe)? The Mātaatua Declaration would say that this decision is in the domain of those who are the traditional owners. The tribunal’s decision to coin the term tāonga work has the potential to muddy these waters even further because the distinctions and definitions they offer are not likely to be endorsed by all hapū and iwi.



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One of the principal difficulties is that many of these works have been effectively available in the public domain since being deposited in a library or other cultural institution. This has enabled them to be mined for information by researchers who have been able to use the knowledge for their own means. This may not have always been in the best interests of those who lay a claim to the moral or cultural ownership of these items or the mātauranga that they contain. So placing a restriction on access would, as the old cliché states, not be able to put the genie back in the bottle. However, it might be possible to limit how tāonga works are able to be used in the future.

Heritage Collections in New Zealand Libraries Major collections of Māori heritage materials are held in Auckland Libraries, Auckland War Memorial Museum Library, Alexander Turnbull Library, and the Hocken Library (University of Otago). Libraries in other centres typically hold smaller collections that are more likely to be dominated by secondary sources such as books, journals, and audio-visual materials. The larger collections have developed principally as a result of the efforts of private collectors. Their collections were donated to form the basis of the libraries that, in the case of Turnbull and Hocken, bear their respective names and, in Sir George Grey’s case, formed the basis of the heritage collections held by Auckland Libraries. The Auckland War Memorial Museum Library heritage collections are drawn from a variety of sources with the most notable being the items collected by ethnographer George Graham mainly from the Auckland and Hauraki regions with his main areas of interest being waka (boats), waiata, whakapapa, tāonga, and tikanga. All of these institutions have benefitted from the collection of manuscripts, diaries, and letters by Māori or that have been recorded and/or translated by the collectors. These collections have been strengthened further by pictorial resources, including photographs, drawings, prints, and artworks that illustrate aspects of Māori life and customs tikanga. These items have become the primary research materials for scholars focusing on aspects of tikanga and te reo Māori. These materials rarely have any restrictions placed upon their use other than rules around borrowing, handling, photocopying, and/or reproduction.

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Legislative Issues As previously mentioned, the critical laws relating to cultural and intellectual property rights include copyright, plant varieties, trademarks, and design. Without binding international agreements through WIPO and other agencies like the World Bank and the United Nations, the protection of traditional knowledge systems will continue to be susceptible to misuse or exploitation. In New Zealand, there are other principal pieces of legislation that do have some implications for government responsibilities for the care and guardianship of Māori cultural and intellectual property. Specific references to the care and collection of Māori resources exist in the different statutes that control the National Library of New Zealand, Archives New Zealand, and the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa. Section seven of the National Library of New Zealand (Te Puna Mātauranga o Aotearoa) Act, states that one of the Library’s purposes is “collecting, preserving, and protecting documents, particularly those relating to New Zealand, and making them accessible for all the people of New Zealand, in a manner consistent with their status as documentary heritage and tāonga” (New Zealand National Library 2003, 7). Other parts of the Act that establish governance entities2 for the National Library and the Alexander Turnbull Library make reference to providing advice regarding mātauranga Māori and ensuring that there is ready access to this knowledge. However, the Act fails to provide a definition of what a tāonga is, or what the meaning of mātauranga Māori is. The Act has left it to the Library and the respective governance entities to develop their own understandings of what these terms are. The Library and Information Advisory Commission (LIAC) has developed a position statement on mātauranga Māori that falls short of defining what it is. Rather it states (New Zealand. Department of International Affairs 2015, §1–2): we acknowledge that traditional Māori knowledge was passed down orally, and carefully controlled in many different spheres. Some cultural knowledge was shared between tribes, some was limited to just one iwi, and some knowledge was limited to just one hapū, marae, or family. Any discussion of mātauranga Māori must take this wider context into account. The collections of Libraries around New Zealand contain art works, photographs, maps, audio recordings, physical objects and books which contain or embody Mātauranga Māori. Those libraries must build relationships with the iwi who have interests in those holdings, around governance of the items and access to them

2 The governance entities are the Library and Information Advisory Commission (LIAC) and The Guardians Kaitiaki of the Alexander Turnbull Library.



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The Museum of New Zealand (Te Papa Tongarewa) Act 1992 is not as explicit as the legislation that relates to the National Library, with the Te Papa Tongarewa Board needing to ensure that the “Museum expresses and recognises the mana and significance of Māori, European, and other major traditions and cultural heritages, and that the Museum provides the means for every such culture to contribute effectively to the Museum as a statement of New Zealand’s identity” (New Zealand. Museum of New Zealand Te PapaTongarewa Act 1992, 8b). This lack of clarity also extends to Archives New Zealand (Te Rua Mahara o te Kāwanatanga) and its governing body, the Archives Council. Although The Public Records Act of 2005 makes a specific reference to the Treaty of Waitangi, this is more focused on consultation with Māori by the Chief Archivist and ensuring that representation on the Archives Council includes two individuals who have a knowledge of tikanga Māori, with the emphasis being on tikanga Māori, rather than tāonga or mātauranga Māori. However, section 26 of the The Public Records Act 2005 does provide for the recognition of “an iwi-based or hapū-based repository as an approved repository where public archives may be deposited for safekeeping” (New Zealand. Public Records Act 2005, 1a).

Pathways Forward With the lack of a response from the New Zealand Government to the WAI 262 report and the looseness of the legislation relating to the National Library, Archives New Zealand and Te Papa Tongarewa, all three institutions are left to identify a clear way forward for dealing with the tāonga within their collections. The difficulties stem from the lack of any clear definitions or guidelines relating to their roles and the fact that even though all three are culturally focused in their activities and functions, the nature of what they collect differs quite dramatically. So, it is difficult for them to attempt to develop a robust strategy that will lead to a consistent approach to how they fulfil the role of caring for the tāonga and expressions of mātauranga Māori in their respective collections. In attempting to develop such a strategy, these institutions are required to negotiate an uneasy pathway through honouring their legislative commitments, while also balancing their professional responsibilities to their clients, not all of whom will be convinced that there is a need to protect tāonga or mātauranga Māori or to restrict access to these resources. Although public libraries, local archives, and regional museums are not bound by the same legislative requirements as the three government funded bodies, they will nonetheless look to these institutions for leadership and advice when dealing with these same issues at the local level.

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A possible pathway forward is for the three institutions to look at how they manage their relationships with iwi or hapū through their governance structures and their consultation practices; how policies regarding access and restrictions are determined; how they develop and implement policies and practices relating to repatriation of tāonga and/or mātauranga Māori; and how they ensure that iwi and/or hapū have the facilities, resources, and expertise to manage any tāonga or mātauranga Māori resources that are repatriated to them.

Governance All three institutions have statutorily appointed governance entities. However, despite these bodies having an overview of tāonga and mātauranga Māori, there is no requirement that they have members who are Māori, although LIAC and the Guardians of the Turnbull must have members who are familiar with tikanga Māori. In most instances this is likely to be someone who is Māori, but this is not an absolute certainty. In the case of the Guardians of the Turnbull, LIAC, and the Archives Council, the Minister of Māori Affairs is required to be consulted before appointments are made and this is likely to result in Māori becoming board members. However, the Te Papa Tongarewa Board does not have any reference to Māori specific skills and/or knowledge being required by any of the Board members but it would be highly irregular for Māori board members not to be appointed. In addition to LIAC and the Guardians, the National Library has a group known as Te Komiti Māori that advises the National Librarian and the Chief Librarian of the Alexander Turnbull Library on Māori issues. Unlike the other two advisory bodies, Te Komiti Māori has no statutory mandate and appointment of members is by invitation from the National Librarian. Apart from an acknowledgement of their expertise, no other information is provided about who they represent or how long their term of appointment lasts. The degree of influence that these statutory and advisory boards have is unknown and also unknown is how much communication and collaboration takes place between them. Given that all three institutions that are served by these boards are focused on similar issues albeit with different resource materials, it would be sensible for there to be regular consultation on issues relating to the care, collection, and definition of tāonga and mātauranga Māori in their possession. This would enable a level of consistency across the three agencies that is currently missing. Similarly, the appointment of a Komiti Māori that advises all three institutions would be advantageous as, again, it would provide an inte-



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grated approach to wider consultation with Māori. Appointments to such a committee would need to be more formal than the current arrangements at National Library, with clear terms of reference, clear information about who each member was representing, and details about their length of office. The true value that a broader committee can offer would be realised at the point where hapū and iwi begin negotiating access and repatriation issues as part of their Treaty of Waitangi settlement resolutions.

Repatriation In an environment where increasing numbers of iwi have settled their Treaty claims and are entering the phase of developing a social, cultural, and economic base for their members, there is a desire to develop local cultural resource centres capable of housing tāonga, research materials, and other expressions of their tribal identity. For many iwi, this has taken the form of investigating and identifying where and what the nature is of their tribal property that is in cultural institutions within New Zealand and overseas. Such investigations can lead to questions about how these tāonga came into the possession of these institutions and who owns them. Although there might be some sympathy for these items to be repatriated, there is strong concern that if they are returned to iwi that they continue to be housed in the most appropriate curatorial conditions and that individuals with the right skills and expertise are available to care for them. For Te Papa Tongarewa, the repatriation of mokomokai (tattooed heads) and Māori skeletal remains from overseas institutions has been a major focus over the last two decades. This has been a highly successful programme with major collections having been returned from many institutions in Europe and North America. Once returned to New Zealand they are stored in a special vault at Te Papa Tongarewa until it is possible to identify to which communities they should be returned to for burial. The process of identification is complex and lengthy in nature, with approximately only a quarter of the 500 remains having been returned so far. However, the repatriation of major tāonga from overseas is much more complex with reluctance by major institutions to create a precedent that might see the floodgates open for claims from other countries. This is best illustrated by the example of the Elgin Marbles that Greece would like to have returned, but the British Museum wishes to retain as it believes that they would deteriorate if sent back to Athens. The best hopes for repatriation are for the acquisition of items that become available from private collections; however, these are normally sold

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at auction and our institutions are forced to compete for them on an international market. Within New Zealand, the repatriation of tāonga back to iwi and hapū is dependent on successful negotiations. For documents, manuscripts, letters, diaries, photographs, and other resources, the repatriation might be in the form of hard copies or digital files. This would obviously place less of a focus on the curatorial environment where such resources would be housed. However, for many this would not be a satisfactory resolution as the mana (prestige) of the resources would be most paramount in the originals. One practical way of solving such an impasse would be for a form of public/private partnership where hapū or iwi enter into a relationship with their local museum or public library. These institutions could provide the appropriate storage facilities and curatorial expertise, while the ownership of the resources would remain with the hapū or iwi mandated authority. This would probably have to be negotiated item by item and, possibly, some of the tāonga would be unable to be transferred due to the terms under which they were donated or loaned to the respective institutions by private individuals or organizations.

Building Capacity With an increasing emphasis on repatriation of tāonga and development of tribal based cultural repositories there is a strong need for the development of the necessary skills and expertise of individuals within hapū and iwi to enable them to care for these items. The level and type of expertise required would be dependent on what the repository consisted of and what other resources were available locally. If expertise is not available, then it needs to be developed. The responsibility for its development should not have to rest either with the national institution or the hapū/iwi rather it should be in the form of a partnership between them. Subsequently suitable individuals from the hapū/iwi, with the necessary knowledge of tikanga and the natural ability would be selected to be trained and receive qualifications and work experience where necessary. The creation of internships that enabled these individuals to gain valuable experience in all three institutions and/or the opportunity to acquire skills in one aspect of curatorship would ensure that repositories had their own expertise to draw upon. Although technically, the training of these individuals would be seen as being in the domain of the hapū/iwi and not the responsibility of the institutions, there exists a moral and professional responsibility on the part of these national organisations to ensure that the care of tāonga at the local level is successful and the



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people charged with caring for them are highly effective exponents of custodial skills and expertise. Furthermore, introducing an intern process would create an environment of ongoing support and mentoring that would also strengthen links between the respective institutions and hapū/iwi. This could become a highly effective reciprocal relationship as hapū/iwi experts could also be consulted when additional expertise is required by one of the national or local institutions.

Access and Reproduction Due to the ongoing failure of current intellectual property laws, tāonga and mātauranga Māori resources will continue to be susceptible to misuse and/or exploitation. There is a strong need for research- and heritage-focused libraries to negotiate and collaborate with the moral owners of this knowledge over issues such as access to and the reproduction of these items. This is even more important in an environment where items are increasingly becoming available in digital formats thus making them more accessible than ever before. Not all these resources will contain valuable knowledge needing to be protected from use. The fact that they have been made available brings into question who has made the decision to make them accessible in this manner. An example is the case of letters written by Māori to Sir Donald McLean, a nineteenth-century Crown Agent and Member of Parliament, that have been digitized, translated, and made available on the Alexander Turnbull Library website. Not all will be pleased to see letters from their tipuna (ancestor) asking for relief or financial assistance as this could be seen as not being mana-enhancing. The individual who wrote the letter would not have expected it to have been read by anyone else but the addressee and certainly not digitized for all the world to see 150 years after it was written. Similar concerns might also be held about the proliferation of digital images being made available of photographs or pictorials of groups and individuals depicting some aspect of Māori life or customs such as a tangihanga (funeral rites). Although there are restrictions placed on the reproduction or use of these items for publication or performance purposes, the reality is that there is little that can stop them from being used or downloaded by those who do not actively seek such permission. Brown and Nicholas (2012) provide an example from the University of Auckland’s open-source Anthropology Photographic Archive that separates copyright from cultural sensitivity, putting the onus of cultural permission and description back on the photographer unless it receives correspondence to say otherwise. Such luxuries are not always feasible, especially when dealing with historical images. Some resentment also exists where it is necessary for whānau/hapū/iwi

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are forced to seek permission to reproduce images that they feel they have moral ownership over due to them depicting tupuna or a cultural icon of theirs. The crux of the problem is that there is a vast volume of material being made available in this way and most institutions would claim that it is impossible to consult over every image or every letter otherwise nothing would progress very fast. Libraries particularly are consistent advocates of information freedom of access. However, just because it is difficult does not mean that it should not be done. A potential approach could be for hapū and iwi to identify images and other resources within these collections that they have a strong moral, cultural, and intellectual interest in and negotiate the terms of access and reproduction. This would help to ensure that the mana of these resources is protected and a hapū/iwi permission process be initiated that would see them used in an appropriate manner. This could also enable these resources to be used by members of the hapū and iwi without having to seek the permission of the cultural institution that holds them.

Conclusion This chapter has focused on the inadequacies of the Western legal system to protect Māori cultural and intellectual property rights and the approaches taken by Māori to rectify this. This has taken the form of a claim to the Waitangi Tribunal and by collaborating with other indigenous peoples to advance these issues on the world stage through organisations such as the United Nations, WIPO, and the World Bank. Within New Zealand, the failure of the government to provide a response to the WAI 262 claim on intellectual property and indigenous flora and fauna, leaves cultural institutions at the national level with a dilemma. Should they wait for a definitive direction from the New Zealand Government or do they act voluntarily and according to the moral position and professional ethics that cultural institutions are traditionally associated with? It is my belief that waiting is not sustainable, particularly in an era when hapū and iwi are wishing to exert their tino rangatiratanga over their tāonga and mātauranga Māori resources. This environment is best served through collaboration and cooperation between the three national institutions and their governance entities in defining policies, practices, and consultation approaches when dealing with cultural and intellectual property issues. The development of a strong relationship between these institutions and hapū and iwi can also be used as a catalyst for developing capacity at local levels leading to fully fledged cultural repositories at tribal level. There is a continued need for these national institutions to have ongoing dialogue with Māori to ensure that a balance is struck between the freedom of information



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and the protection of tāonga and mātauranga Māori. Given the vast volume of resources in public institutions that Māori will have an interest in, these discussions will continue for many years to come and this will hopefully see a strengthening of the relationships between Māori and the cultural institutions of New Zealand.

Glossary of Māori Terms Te Reo Māori

English

Aotearoa Hapū Iwi Kaitiaki Karakia Mana Marae Mātauranga Māori Mokomokai Rangatira Rongoa Tangihanga Tāonga Tāonga Tuku Iho Tenei Te reo Māori Tikanga Tino-rangatiratanga Tipuna Tohunga Waahi tapu Waiata Waka Whakapapa Whakairo Whānau

New Zealand, Land of the long white cloud Sub-tribe Tribe Guardian Incantation Prestige Traditional meeting place Māori customary knowledge Tattooed heads Chiefs Traditional Māori medicine Funeral rites Treasures, prized objects Treasures from the ancestors This, here Māori language Māori customary practice Self-determination Ancestor Expert Sacred places Music, sung poetry Voyaging canoes Genealogical charts Carvings Extended family

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References Best, Elsdon. 1925. Tuhoe: The Children of the Mist; A Sketch of the Origin, History, Myths and Beliefs of the Tuhoe Tribe of the Maori of New Zealand. New Plymouth, New Zealand: T. Avery. Brown, Deirdre and George Nicholas. 2012. “Protecting Indigenous Cultural Property in the Age of Digital Democracy.” Journal of Material Culture 17(3): 307–324. Commission on Human Rights. Sub-Commission of Prevention of Discrimination and Protection of Minorities. Working Group on Indigenous Populations. 1993. “Mātaatua Declaration on Cultural and Intellectual Property Rights of Indigenous Peoples.” [Statement presented at the] First International Conference on the Cultural & Intellectual Property Rights of Indigenous Peoples, Whakatane, 12–18 June 1983, Aotearoa, New Zealand. http://www. wipo.int/export/sites/www/tk/en/databases/creative_heritage/docs/mataatua.pdf. Accessed on 13 June 2015. General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) 1994. 1867 U.N.T.S. 187; 33 I.L.M. 1153 (1994). https://www.wto.org/english/docs_e/legal_e/06-gatt.pdf. Accessed on 12 June 2015. Jahnke, Robert and Huia Tomlins-Jahnke. 2003. “The Politics of Māori Image and Design.” He Pukenga Korero 7(1): 5–31. Kawharu, Ivan Hugh, ed. 1989. Waitangi: Māori and Pakeha Perspectives of the Treaty of Waitangi. Auckland: Oxford University Press. Kelly, Leslie G. 1949. Tainui: The Story of Hoturoa and His Descendants. Wellington: The Polynesian Society. Lilley, Spencer. 2008. “The Last Crusade: Māori Cultural and Intellectual Property Rights.” Paper presented at the meeting Cultural Heritage and Living Culture: Defining the U.S. Library Position on Access and Protection of Traditional Cultural Expression for the American Library Association. http://wo.ala.org/tce/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/ the-last-crusade-mark-2.pdf. Accessed on 13 June 2015. Marsden, Maori. 2003. The Woven Universe: Selected Writings of Reverend Maori Marsden. Otaki, New Zealand: Estate of Reverend Maori Marsden. Mead, Hirini Moko. 2003. Tikanga Māori: Living by Māori Values. Wellington: Huia Publishers. New Zealand. Copyright Act 1994. http://www.legislation.govt.nz/act/public/1994/0143/ latest/DLM345634.html. Accessed on 12 June 2015. New Zealand. Department of Internal Affairs. Library and Information Advisory Commission (LIAC). 2015. “LIAC Position Statement on Mātauranga Māori.” http://www.dia.govt.nz/ Matauranga-Maori-. Accessed on 12 June 2015. New Zealand. Designs Act 1953. http://www.legislation.govt.nz/act/public/1953/0065/latest/ DLM281071.html. Accessed on 12 June 2015. New Zealand. National Library of New Zealand (Te Puna Mātauranga o Aotearoa) Act 2003. http://www.legislation.govt.nz/act/public/2003/0019/latest/DLM191997.html. Accessed on 12 June 2015. New Zealand. Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa Act 1992. http://www.legislation. govt.nz/act/public/1992/0019/latest/DLM260204.html. Accessed on 12 June 2015. New Zealand. Patents Act 1953. http://www.legislation.govt.nz/act/public/1953/0064/latest/ DLM280031.html. Accessed on 12 June 2015. New Zealand. Plant Variety Rights Act 1987. http://www.legislation.govt.nz/act/ public/1987/0005/latest/DLM100578.html. Accessed on 12 June 2015.



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New Zealand. Public Records Act 2005. http://www.legislation.govt.nz/act/public/2005/0040/ latest/DLM345529.html. Accessed on 12 June 2015. New Zealand. Trademarks Act 2002. http://www.legislation.govt.nz/act/public/2002/0049/ latest/DLM164240.html. Accessed on 12 June 2015. Shand, Peter. 2002. “Scenes from the Colonial Catwalk: Cultural Appropriation, Intellectual Property Rights and Fashion.” Cultural Analysis 3: 47–88. Simpson, Sally. 2005. Te Ara Tika: Guiding Words: Ngā Ingoa Kaupapa Māori = Māori Subject Headings. Wellington: LIANZA; Te Rōpū Whakahau; National Library. http://trw.org.nz/ publications/Te_Ara_Tika_Guiding_Words.pdf. Accessed on 13 June 2015. Stephens, Māmari and Mary Boyce. 2013. He Papakupu Reo Ture: A Dictionary of Māori Legal Terms. Wellington: Lexis-Nexis. Szekely, Chris. 1997. Te Ara Tika: Guiding Voices: Māori Opinion on Libraries and Information Needs. Wellington: LIANZA; Te Rōpū Whakahau. UN General Assembly. 2007. United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: resolution/adopted by the General Assembly, A/RES/61/295. http://www.un-documents. net/a61r295.htm. Accessed on 22 January 2016. Waitangi Tribunal. 2011. Ko Aotearoa Tenei: A Report into Claims Concerning New Zealand Law and Policy Affecting Māori Culture and Identity. Te Taumata Tuarua. Wellington: Legislation Direct. Wheen, Nicola and Jacinta Ruru. 2004. “The Environmental Reports.” In The Waitangi Tribunal: Te Roopu Whakamana i te Tiriti o Waitangi, edited by Janine Hayward and Nicola R. Wheen, 97–112. Wellington: Bridget Williams Books.

Heidi S. McCann, Peter L. Pulsifer and Carolina Behe

9 S  haring and Preserving Indigenous Knowledge of the Arctic Using Information and Communications Technology Challenges, Opportunities, and the Way Forward For millennia, indigenous peoples have transferred knowledge to younger generations and amongst each other in a number of ways. In this chapter, the authors draw on their collective experience to discuss the dialogue and approaches that have emerged when using information and communications technologies (ICT) to represent indigenous knowledge (IK) of the Arctic through the Exchange for Local Observations and Knowledge of the Arctic (ELOKA). This includes the establishment of protocols and methods that use digital technologies to share and preserve documented forms of IK while attempting to maintain cultural significance, context, ownership, and control of the resources. We pay particular attention to indigenous cultural expression in the context of academic research projects involving researchers and institutions from outside of the community. With the passing of each Elder they take with them lots of pieces of information of knowledge that perhaps none of us will ever know.

Jana Pausauraq Harcharek, Iñupiaq, North Slope Borough (Alaska Upper One Games LLC 2014, 10–18 seconds).

Introduction In the opening passage, Jana Pausauraq Harcharek highlights the urgency of ensuring the ongoing sharing and preservation of IK held by the elders of her community. This chapter draws upon our experiences and relationships with indigenous peoples of the Arctic and the knowledge that they hold. More specifically, we report on collaborative efforts to establish how to best share, manage, and preserve IK held by Arctic indigenous peoples and the documentation of information from that knowledge system using ICT through the ELOKA project. “ELOKA facilitates the collection, preservation, exchange, and use of local observations and knowledge of the Arctic. ELOKA provides data management and user



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support, and fosters collaboration between resident Arctic experts and visiting researchers” (ELOKA 2015a). Stories, songs, and oral histories have always been a powerful means to pass on knowledge, values, and wisdom for this was the best method for transferring information to youth and amongst others. Knowledge and information are also preserved and shared in material objects such as woven baskets or tools, or in other ways such as performance, art, and dance (Pardo et al. 2015). Amongst indigenous communities these practices continue and, at the same time, advances in ICTs are creating new opportunities for preserving and sharing knowledge within indigenous communities and beyond. The growing popularity and use of social media, interactive multimedia, and digital mapping, for example, presents new possibilities for recording and sharing IK. While these forms of knowledge exchange and preservation cannot replace the intimacy that comes with practicing many of the traditions of teaching and learning, some communities have experienced advantages of using ICTs to aid in the sharing and preservation of knowledge. Collecting, preserving, and managing documented IK using ICT needs to be a collaborative effort. Respecting knowledge ownership and considering cultural sensitivities of collected information is critically important. As researchers and stewards of IK documented using ICTs, it is our responsibility to work with communities to use these tools in a way that best reflects their perspective in articulating their knowledge to the world and, more importantly, to their communities. This includes respecting rightful ownership of materials, avoiding causing harm through inappropriate use of information or data, and establishing and maintaining long lasting relationships based on reciprocity with the communities we serve (Cochran et al. 2010). Documenting and sharing IK of the Arctic through ICTs can be challenging. Documenting IK in digital form presents risks, particularly the misuse of the knowledge by removing it from its original context, knowledge appropriation, and misrepresentation of the knowledge through inappropriate transformation. Moreover, historical relationships between Western society and indigenous peoples have not always been positive and are still at the very forefront of the minds of many indigenous people (Deloria and Wildcat 2001). However, indigenous peoples are resilient and despite all that happened, i.e., forced relocation, language and religious persecution, the residential school era, etc., they have become a driving force in research being conducted in the Arctic including using ICTs in representing their knowledge. This is evident in key science policies established in major Arctic research activities. For example, the International Polar Year (IPY) Data Management Policy explicitly recognized special considerations for social science data and data based on local and IK held by indigenous peoples (IPY Data Policy 2006; Pulsifer et al. 2011). The 2007–2008 IPY was the fourth in

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a series of polar research initiatives that began in 1882; however, it was the first to include social sciences and humanities and to formally recognize the value of IK (Krupnik et al. 2005). This produced an urgent need to improve appropriate means of recording, storing, and managing resulting data and ethically and effectively making such data available to Arctic residents and researchers as well as other interested groups such as teachers, students, scientists, and decision makers (Bennett and Lantz 2014; Fienup-Riordan 2014). One of the initiatives that emerged to address this issue was the ELOKA. ELOKA identifies and works to deal with practical challenges such as longterm preservation to prevent misplacement or loss of precious data, e.g., information from elders who have passed away, and avoidance of duplicative research due to lack of awareness of previous studies resulting in research fatigue. Moreover, solutions to the aforementioned issues need to ensure that IK is represented in a way that is culturally appropriate and as truthful to the original knowledge as possible. This needs to be done in partnership with, rather than simply on behalf of, knowledge holders and their communities. In this chapter we outline the establishment of protocols, methods, and ICT applications associated with preserving and sharing documented IK. This is followed by a discussion of the importance of closely maintaining the cultural significance associated with IK and the importance of intellectual property rights.

ICT: Challenges, Opportunities, and the Way Forward ICT is a general term that refers to the integration of information technology such as digital data management and computing and communications technologies including the telephone system, wireless (mainly cellular), and newer microwave and optical communications networks. The internet is a well-known example of pervasive ICT. In recent decades, developments in ICT have had profound impacts on the way that human beings communicate and collect, store, use, and share information. This is resulting in fundamental changes in everyday life, research, and science. ICT is being used by indigenous peoples around the world and they are engaged in an ongoing process of establishing new methods for communication and information processing while connecting to traditional ways (Goes in Center 2001; Christie 2004; Dyson and Leggett 2006; Pulsifer, Laidler and Taylor 2010; Pulsifer et al. 2012; Eisner et al. 2012; Pyne and Taylor 2012). ICT is presenting indigenous peoples with new challenges and opportunities with respect to the sharing and preservation of IK. Based on our experience in the ELOKA project we present an exploration of challenges, opportunities, and ways forward.



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Challenges We received our cultural education from our Elders who passed it on verbally, and by example. Everything that we presently have to live in our land was passed down from our Elders. It is part of the education system in our culture ... Our fathers knew how to use and preserve all these things, how to take care of them, and how to make best use of them. All that is included in our cultural education. Gabriel Fireman, Attawapiskat, Hudson Bay, Canada (quoted in McDonald, Arragutainaq and Novalinga 1997, 65).

A fundamental challenge when using ICTs to represent, share, and preserve documented IK is adequately and appropriately mediating the transfer of knowledge that is originally embodied and typically shared person-to-person through verbal means, including dialogue, to a form that is disembodied (i.e., digital representation), stored using a medium that has historically been biased towards communicating textual (dominantly English), and numeric representations of information. IK is rooted in a cosmology, or ontology, and is a systematic way of thinking applied to phenomena across biological, physical, cultural, and spiritual systems. As a cultural cosmology it is embodied in environmental and cultural experience. In order to synthesise experience, maintain a historical record, and assert their own identity and the existence of their history, indigenous peoples have relied on transmission of information and knowledge through verbal means. Today, the story continues to be a mechanism used to educate, link past and present, share and retain knowledge and culture, relate ideas, convey sacred knowledge, and maintain community cohesion (Pleasant and Denetdale 2013). Stories are told and retold in a particular way, for example, at certain times of the day or year or in certain places. The retelling of stories can be an adaptive process using subtle variations such as an adjustment to place the information in context, emphasise aspects of a story, or present a new lesson in a new way. Therefore, it is important that indigenous oral histories be retold with great care and accuracy by designated and recognized knowledge holders. Thus, using ICT to represent IK and stories is not simply a challenge of format conversion but is related to the maintenance of cultural significance, performative ways of sharing knowledge, human relations, and language. The telling of stories and maintenance of oral culture using ICT presents many challenges (Stevens 2008; Pulsifer et al. 2011; The Hi’iaka Working Group 2011). A primary challenge is the potential loss of meaning or cultural significance as a result of transformation across types of knowledge representation. Mainstream ICT technologies have historically prioritized text over the spoken word, requiring the transformation of stories in ways that take them out of context. Indeed, critics

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have argued that application of ICT without reflection on the underlying ontological and epistemological assumptions underpinning the technologies can result in destructive reductionism (e.g., quantifying inherently qualitative knowledge), misrepresentation of IK, creating a false separation of “society” and “nature” that does not exist in many indigenous cultures, and the introduction of new colonialist power relations and potential loss of control over documented forms of indigenous knowledge (Agrawal 1995; Harris and Weiner 1998; Agrawal 2002; Bryan 2009; Bryan 2011). For example, colonialist power relations can be recast through the application of inappropriate approaches to intellectual property policies and law (Simeone 2004; Hanney 2010). This is discussed in more detail in a subsequent section of this chapter. Additionally, to promote sharing documentation of IK and representation using ICT can involve translation from the language of origin to other languages, particularly English. This can introduce well-known problems related to translation across languages (Lakoff and Johnson 2008; Nes et al. 2010). For example, the metaphors used to communicate may vary across languages or there may be different conceptualizations and related terminology between cultures and knowledge domains. A geophysicist may conceptualize and establish terminology about sea ice in ways that are very different than how an Inuit harvester conceptualizes and speaks about the same phenomena (Laidler and Elee 2008; Eicken 2010; Gearheard et al. 2013). Additionally, a very practical challenge relates to the concept of the “digital divide”. In some cases, IK holders and their communities may not have the same access to ICT as other segments of society (Belcourt et al. 2005). This may be due to a scarcity of devices or insufficient internet bandwidth that prevents or limits the use of ICT. Moreover, inadequate access may be related to knowledge of how to effectively use the technology that may in turn be related to a lack of appropriate support or training materials. All of these challenges have been experienced as part of one or more ELOKA projects. While challenges exist in appropriately using ICT with IK, through experiences with ELOKA, we have found that there are also many opportunities to promote appropriate sharing and preservation of knowledge while maintaining control by knowledge holders and their communities. The following sections share existing approaches to addressing these challenges, short-term opportunities that exist, and possible ways forward over the longer term.



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Opportunities Working with partners in the ELOKA project has revealed a number of opportunities to share and preserve IK of the Arctic in ways that are culturally appropriate and supportive of the goals and needs of knowledge holders and their communities. Key opportunities include the use of multimedia technology, application of geographic information technology, networked ICT in support of dialogue, concept mapping and semantic modeling, and an infrastructure development approach called virtualization. Multimedia technology, in particular, increasingly provides easy-to-use mechanisms for recording and sharing knowledge beyond the use of text. Handheld devices such as newer cellular phones and smartphones are available to many and can create high-quality photos, audio, and video recordings, often with an associated location. This presents an opportunity to maintain cultural significance of IK by supporting new ways to tell stories that retain some aspects of traditional forms of communication. The use of multimedia for storytelling is central to many ELOKA projects, for example, The Snowchange Oral History Project. The Snowchange Oral History Project (ELOKA 2015b) uses web-based multimedia, as seen in Figure 9.1, to tell the stories of two indigenous Chukchi communities, Turvaurgin and Nutendli. A variety of different media including text, photographs, static digital maps, and digital audio is used to create a website with rich context that provides end users with information on how community members live and have lived over time, interact with and observe their environment, construct knowledge, educate youth, and continue to carry out traditional subsistence practices. To avoid representational problems introduced by translation, the content is presented in Russian (spoken by members of the partner communities) as well as English. At the time of writing, a Chukchi-language translation is being developed. This allows knowledge holders to tell stories and share knowledge in their native language. Additionally, there are plans to develop interactive maps under this project. These maps will support the association of images, audio, video, or other documents with geographic features mapped. Mapping and digital geographic information technology has been used to document IK for decades (Milton Freeman Research Ltd. 1976; Poole 1995; Poole 1998; Tobias 2000; Goes in Center 2001). Some applications examine ideas of integrating IK and Western scientific knowledge using geographic information technologies as a bridge (Brodnig and Mayer-Schönberger 2000). However, there is a broader movement that is establishing a set of principles for developing geospatial technologies that are ontologically and epistemologically aligned with indigenous cultural knowledge representation and preservation (Aporta and Higgs

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Figure 9.1: The Russian version of the Snowchange Oral History Project website. Text, photos, maps and audio are combined to provide a more accurate representation of narrative and IK.

2005; Pulsifer et al. 2011; Eisner et al. 2012; Pyne and Taylor 2012). Many ELOKA applications use mapping technology and are adopting and adapting technology to meet the needs of partners. For example, the Yup’ik Environmental Knowledge Project includes an interactive online atlas that maps traditional Yup’ik place names in southwestern Alaska as shown in Figure 9.2. This application builds on the use of multimedia but adds online, interactive mapping capabilities.



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Figure 9.2: The Yup’ik Atlas combines multimedia and digital mapping technologies to provide a more holistic representation of Yup’ik knowledge of the environment and traditional place names. Users can hear a spoken pronunciation of a mapped place name. In some cases, detailed stories related to the place are included in audio and text form.

Bidirectional communication, or dialogue, can be limited by simply recording and presenting images or narrative. However, ICT devices and the media produced by them are increasingly networked using the internet or cellular phone networks. This moves us towards the ability to support dialogue and interactive communication. In the last decade, social media platforms that sit on top of these networks have fundamentally changed the scale at which communication can take place. The simple act of “liking” a post on the popular Facebook site can indicate an acceptance or understanding of ideas. Posts on blogs or social media content can be a form of dialogue and idea and knowledge exchange. Using Twitter, a tweet can go viral, possibly exposing thousands or millions to a piece of information. During a workshop hosted by ELOKA in 2011, participants identified Facebook as a primary means of communication among Northern communities. Subsequently, ELOKA established a Facebook page in 2012. The page is used to share ELOKA projects, activities, developments in or by communities related to ICT and IK, and other information relevant to ELOKA, our partners, and anyone else who are interested. The page provides a familiar mechanism that can be used to establish a dialogue with our community of practice.

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At the time of writing, community experts involved in the previously described Yup’ik Environmental Knowledge Project Atlas are reviewing and validating place names documented in the Atlas. As part of the validation process, local experts are independently and directly updating existing entries and adding new names to the database using the web interface. This places control closer to the community. Following the completion of this review, a feature that will allow registered users to comment on place names will be enabled. This will support a dialogical model that can engage members of local communities, people from other indigenous communities outside of the region, or others with an interest in Yup’ik place names and related knowledge of the region. As indicated, documenting and representing IK using ICT often involves the translation of indigenous languages (typically to English) as well as the desire to share information across domains (e.g., IK, science, operations). In collaboration with the Semantic Sea Ice Interoperability Initiative (Duerr et al. 2015), members of the ELOKA team and partners are experimenting with the use of digital concept mapping to facilitate communication and understanding across languages and domains. This approach provides a graphic representation of terms and definitions in multiple languages simultaneously and can use multimedia (e.g., photos) to facilitate understanding across languages and knowledge domains as shown in Figure 9.3. Future research will investigate the possibilities for using the models developed from concept mapping to support automatic or semi-automatic mediation of meaning across languages and knowledge domains. This could be used to facilitate smart searching that, for example, would make a user aware that their search term exists across multiple languages. A comprehensive discussion of issues related to the so-called digital divide is beyond the scope of this chapter, however, there are a number of recent technical developments that may support indigenous communities in sharing and preserving documented knowledge using ICT while maintaining a desired level of autonomy and control. Cloud computing and related technologies and methods are having a major impact in this area. At a basic level, cloud computing means storing and accessing data and programs over the internet rather than on a local computer. A number of office applications and file sharing services are now available in this way. At a more advanced level, service providers are allowing individuals or organizations who need server technology for hosting websites and other applications to rent space on their infrastructure rather than owning and operating their own hardware and software. Organizations can readily establish a virtual machine, an independent server that can be privately managed as if it were physically hosted at a location. These virtual machines can be hosted on a public cloud that is offered by large service providers. A private cloud can be used if there are concerns about the location of and control over data as is the



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Figure 9.3: Example of a digital, online concept map of sea-ice knowledge allowing users to browse terminology from different languages and the association of terms to concepts (e.g., Very Young Ice). Photos and other multimedia can be used as language-independent way of facilitating understanding.

case for many organizations and some situations where IK-related data is being managed. ELOKA has established a private cloud that is made available to partners. Individual communities can have their own virtual machine(s) that can be used to independently manage their data and applications. Where appropriate, sharing is facilitated using open data sharing protocols. An added advantage to this approach is that a virtual machine is portable. If at any time a community would like to move the virtual machine from one hardware host to another, they can do so. Moreover, a customized virtual machine can be configured by technical experts at ELOKA and then delivered to a community to host locally if desired. These developments are presenting new options and opportunities for providing communities with access to ICT at lower cost, with fewer requirements for technical expertise, but with a high level of access and control of content produced from knowledge holders and their community.

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The Way Forward The preceding section presented selected challenges and opportunities in the area of sharing and preserving IK using ICT. Based on our experience in ELOKA, our primary focus moving forward is not strictly on technology but rather on the working model. Rather than simply providing ICT services, ELOKA is working with partners to move data management activities closer to the community. Given that some communities are small and have limited access to technology and human resources, this may involve working with a regional partner. ELOKA is working closely with indigenous organizations, regional bodies, other research institutions, and individual communities around the circumpolar Arctic to establish a knowledge and technology sharing network that will support IK holders and their communities to continue transforming research methods, knowledge governance, and the use of ICT. While there are technical challenges that need to be addressed in developing this model, a more foundational issue is the recognition of the need for theory, methods, and tools that can be used by IK holders and their partners to maintain control.

Intellectual Property Rights ICTs have their strengths and weaknesses when documenting IK. Utilizing available ICT tools to present IK as close to the cultural context from which it derives empowers indigenous communities by offering additional alternative forms in the transference from one generation to the next. Stewards of IK need to be mindful of protecting it. When IK leaves a community, as happens when using ICT, how can it and, in a larger sense, its’ intellectual integrity be protected? One possibility being explored by ELOKA and partners is the use of intellectual property law (IPL); however, we have found limitations in using this method. As a result, we are also examining the use of normative and technical approaches that can be used together in ways that work for knowledge holders and communities. Within the United States, IPL covers four different categories: copyright, patents, trademarks, and trade secrets. The intellectual property type most often encountered in our work at ELOKA falls under the copyright category of the law as many information entities stored in systems developed by ELOKA and our partners fall under copyright protection. Indigenous peoples assert “... that they have legitimate rights to control, access and utilize in any way, including restricting others’ access to, knowledge or information that derives from unique cultural histories, expressions, practices and contexts. Indigenous people[s] are looking to



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intellectual property law as a means to secure these ends” (Anderson 2010, § 2). Clearly, IPL will be an important tool in protecting indigenous intellectual property rights and integrity. However, in our experience problems arise with using IPL. These laws are adapted for a system that recognizes private and individual ownership. This system is in direct contrast to how IK is managed and controlled within indigenous communities (Downes 2000). Indeed, some have called for a separate, sui generis legal regime that applies to IPL and IK (Young-Ing 2008). Within the indigenous cultures and associated knowledge systems that ELOKA works with, there is no one individual owner of knowledge. IK is shared and maintained in a communal effort and usually a shared responsibility amongst specific members of the community. IK is thought to be more about custodianship rather than ownership, which comes with obligations that when not fulfilled could lead to the loss of custodianship privileges and access to IK (Lettington and Mita 2000). Not only is finding a rightful individual owner of IK problematic, IK reaches beyond what the law presently protects and does not address the spiritual dimensions within it. Additionally, some aspects of IK are subjected to the exclusion of IPL protections and are considered to be within the public domain. Public domain implies that certain elements of IK such as a traditional remedy or folk song are not eligible for private ownership, thus the public can legally use any of the contents (McIntosh 2000). In many legal systems, databases are not subject to protection under IPL as they are considered simply a collection of facts. In the case where IK is documented in the form of a database, a situation can arise where there is uncertainty as to whether IPL protection can be applied. Lacking a sui generis regime, the burden to conform IK to Western frameworks is placed on indigenous communities. In order to alleviate these types of burdensome practices the United Nations (UN) responded with a tool that, while not legally binding, would work to benefit indigenous peoples the world over under the UN Declaration for the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP). UNDRIP was developed by indigenous international organizations, peoples, and State representatives of the UN. After thirty years of negotiations, UNDRIP was agreed upon in 2007 and establishes international recognition of indigenous peoples rights over their knowledge and any intellectual property (Champagne 2013). UNDRIP states that “Indigenous peoples have ... right[s] ... [over] their cultural heritage, knowledge, and traditional cultural expressions” (United Nations 2007, Article 31). The World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO), which is a self-funding agency of the UN, leads efforts for a balanced and effective international IP system that will aid in protecting IK and Traditional Cultural Expressions (WIPO 2015, §1–2; Tobin 2009). UNDRIP provides a standard in which UN member States should move in regards to the treatment of indigenous peoples, including rights in relation to knowledge and cultural expressions; however, UNDRIP

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is not legally binding. While UNDRIP and related organizations and initiatives do not focus specifically on the use of ICT, they provide a conceptual foundation on which appropriate methods, policies, and technologies can be built. ELOKA is using these tools to complement dialogue with partners in support of establishing data and information sharing agreements that meet the needs of, and are appropriate for, the communities that we are working with. As previously mentioned, a foundation of trust must be established among all parties involved in any endeavour of IK stewardship and information sharing. A participatory approach to developing data access and use policies supports the knowledge holders/communities proprietary rights and further supports indigenous free, prior, and informed consent. Additionally, by working through a participatory approach both the IK holders and those with ICT expertise are able to ensure potential strong success in communication of the information that is intended to be shared (Anderson 2010). If documented information from IK is being used in Arctic research or policy through ICTs, indigenous ways of controlling and managing their knowledge should also be used in developing such policies. Using IPL provides guidance but it is not a comprehensive solution to protecting IK. It’s important to look at and consider alternative ways when developing policies. Stewards of IK need to use innovative ways to develop models of protection. One such way is a formal, documented agreement that is developed by or in collaboration with indigenous communities. For example, the communities involved in the SIZONet online application project (Eicken et al. 2014) developed a use agreement that indicates the conditions that apply to accessing the collection of observations developed through that project (ELOKA 2015c). In the case of using IPL to deal with copyright infringement, the onus is on the owner to take legal action. This is an onerous and expensive process requiring a relatively aggressive approach that does not necessarily reflect the intention of community members. Coupled with the uncertainty around protecting what some define as a database, the use of IPL as a protection mechanism was not seen as an appropriate mechanism for the SIZONet project. Thus a normative approach in the form of a use agreement was adopted. Documented agreements between the community and the steward(s) that includes the traditional ways knowledge was controlled and managed shows the recognition by the steward that IK is owned by the community even when the knowledge is outside of the community where it derived. In days past when IK was collected it’s highly probable that there was no explanation of how it was to be used, how it might be shared, and who might use it. Thus, the importance of protecting IK is ensured by properly utilizing indigenous control and management ways (Ross et al. 2011)



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Licensing may be another method to consider ensuring proprietary rights. For example, Creative Commons, a framework that is appropriate for copyright licenses, provides a “standardized way to give the public permission to share and use ... creative works – on conditions of ... choice” and “... work alongside copyright law and enable ... [modification of] ... copyright terms to best suit [unique] needs” (Creative Commons 2015, §2–3). This may be an appropriate tool for use by knowledge holders or indigenous groups to manage content shared through ICTs. However, this method may not be appropriate for all situations as it is based on a standardized, “one size fits all”, set of licences rather than on the creation of a specific IK licence that is culturally or practically appropriate for the needs of indigenous peoples (Anderson 2010). For example, one ELOKA partner requires that the contributing communities, through a request process, approve each specific use of data. This allows them to review the appropriateness of the use and establish a relationship with the user(s). A blanket licence like Creative Commons would not be appropriate in this situation.

Conclusion Where the technological transference of IK was done orally, over time and within the nurturing context of the community from which it evolved, in some cases, IK is now at least in part preserved, shared, and documented using new forms of technology and shared with a potentially global audience. Where IK was thought by some to be mystical and with little value, it is now increasingly viewed in many places as being complementary to or as valuable as Western science. While in the past, the methods to collect IK were done with little regard for customs of indigenous peoples’ cultures, better and more informed methods are now evolving. Where it was once thought that libraries, archives, and museums, which held vast collections of objects and information generated from IK, knew best how to care for and manage their collections, indigenous peoples have made many advances in leading and stewarding the collection independently or in partnership with other organizations. While there is still much to do, positive advances have been made in Arctic research in terms of recognizing the value of IK and being more inclusive of Arctic indigenous peoples. Part of this has been in the area of documenting IK and using ICTs to manage, share and preserve the results. The challenges faced when documenting IK are, to some extent, being met through the innovative use of new technologies including multimedia, digital mapping, social media and other networking tools, visualization, and new infrastructure models such as cloud computing.

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These tools and methods must be combined with a suitable model for recognizing and, where necessary, protecting intellectual property rights.

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Young-Ing, Greg. 2008. “Conflicts, Discourse, Negotiations and Proposed Solutions Regarding Transformation of Traditional Knowledge.” In Aboriginal Oral Traditions: Theory, Practice, Ethics., edited by Renate Eigenbrod and Renée Hulan, 61–78. Halifax, Canada: Fernwood.

Elias Tzoc

10 Mayan Languages in the Digital Age Opportunities and Challenges The ability to easily create and share content in the digital world is definitely one of the best contributions of the internet, which presumably is the most democratic communication medium developed in recent history. A quick look at some of the internet statistics, however, will also confirm that there are still many gaps in such an active and digitally connected world. For instance, more than 50% of the digital data on the web is either in English or Chinese. This situation raises many questions about the future of knowledge, especially from communities where only a few elderly people speak the local language. We all know that language has always played an important role in the formation and expression of identity and we also know that the new generations are or can be convinced of the benefits of learning other more popular and business friendly languages. Thus, the real question becomes: how can local indigenous communities use new information technologies to preserve and revitalize their languages? In this ever-changing time in history, some experts continue to state that new information technologies can be effective tools to revitalize and rebuild local communities. The steady and fast-growing number of people with mobile devices and internet access in many of these indigenous communities opens up a lot of opportunities to utilize these technologies to help document, preserve, and transfer local knowledge into future generations. In this chapter, the author will begin by providing a quick overview of the situation of indigenous languages at a global scale and then talk about selected organizations working on language revitalization in Guatemala. Additionally, he will present a list of selected examples of digital initiatives for documenting, preserving, and disseminating indigenous knowledge and cultural expressions in Mayan languages.

Introduction The exponential growth of digital information in the last twenty years has created many opportunities for knowledge sharing in the entire world. For many of the more than three billion internet users, the ability to easily create and share content in the digital world is definitely one of the best contributions of the internet. Such contributions could be anything from social media posts, citizen journalism,

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crowd sourcing, publishing in open access databases, uploading videos, and even bank transactions. Because of these new ways of interaction and creation of data, Time magazine had a special cover in December 2006 when they decided that “You” were chosen as the magazine’s Person of the Year (Grossman 2006). In a way, they acknowledged the millions of people who contribute user-generated content in the digital world. Undoubtedly, this was a key example of the power of regular internet users in contributing to the ongoing growth of digital information. However, a closer look at some of the internet statistics will also confirm that there are still many gaps in the existing connected world; one example, for instance, is the language gap. According to the study Usage of Content Languages for Websites (W3Techs 2015), almost 55% of the most visited websites used English as their content language. Additionally, in a December 2013 report on Users by Language by the Internet World Stats, the authors reported that more than 50% of the digital users were either English or Chinese speakers (Internet World Stats 2015). These language statistics and realities can raise many questions about the future of traditional knowledge, especially from communities where only a few elderly people speak their local language. Experts from different disciplines, including linguists, anthropologists, and information professionals, have demonstrated that language plays an important role in the formation and expression of identity, thus it is imperative to consider the implications of new technologies in the future of local languages or cultures. This chapter will provide an overview of the impact of technology in Mayan languages in Guatemala and will include examples of expressions such as oral traditions, songs, storytelling, print publications, and computer applications. These digital forms of documenting local expressions are now possible in part because more people in indigenous communities have better access to computers, local libraries, and mobile or smart phones. In fact, in 2014, the Superintendence of Telecommunications in Guatemala reported that there were almost 21.5 million phones registered in the country (Superintendencia de Telecomunicaciones de Guatemala 2015). That presents a questionable and surprising scenario, calling on us to question why there are more mobile phones than people in a country with a population of 15 million. At the same time, such a scenario is also opening up a whole new area of possibilities to help document, preserve, and transfer local knowledge for future generations. In the case of Mayan communities in Guatemala, the steady and fast-growing number of people with internet access continues to create new channels of communication that can subsequently help with knowledge preservation and documentation. The two ultimate goals of this chapter are first, to provide a current and realistic picture of the challenges and opportunities that new technologies are bringing to Mayan languages. And, second, to document and understand the challenges for younger generations in



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trying to maintain a strong local identity but at the same time trying to prepare themselves for a new, demanding, and globalized world. Thus, the real questions become: how can local communities use new information and communication technologies (ICT) while still preserving and revitalizing their local languages? And, when local communities do so, how can they still be able to compete and navigate in a digital world where English is the lingua franca? By no means can this be generalized in other countries but it must be fair to assume that similar challenges and opportunities are true in other places as well.

Indigenous Languages Around the World The study of the role of technology and its impact on indigenous languages is limited to a few research studies published by individual scholars or sponsored by international agencies. In this section, we will review the current status of indigenous or native languages on a broader scale. The role of technology in language revitalization around the world has been further studied and documented; in fact, in the article “Will Indigenous Languages Survive?” (Walsh 2006), the author presents a list of several professional journals that have devoted entire issues to this topic in the last twenty years. Interestingly enough, one of Walsh’s conclusions was that “it is apparent that the community of scholars is divided on the question of whether Indigenous languages will survive” (Walsh 2005, 308). On a similar thought, in the article “Language, Identity, and the Internet”, the author concluded “the Internet can both magnify existing inequalities in society while also facilitating efforts to challenge these inequalities” (Warschauer 2001, §20). On the other extreme, some authors have argued that precisely because of the digital world, and its implicit digital divide, there will be more languages in a “massive die-off” status than the well accepted number of about 2,500 languages considered endangered (Kornai, 2013, §1). One of the language-challenge examples presented in the article is the Wikipedia language policy, where a list of requirements must be met before Wikipedia officially accepts a new language. Kornai also argued that even when a language makes it to Wikipedia, it still runs the risk of becoming just a heritage project instead of an active language in the digital environment. In an early study, “La Red de Internet y los Pueblos Indígenas de América Latina: Experiencias y Perspectivas”, Pilco stated that “the use of new information and communication technologies has helped greatly in the fight for the rights and the identification of Indigenous peoples” (Pilco 2000, §323). On the other hand, another early publication by a Chilean librarian, “Dealing with Diversity

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and Digital Cultures”, underlined that “Countries should create their contents in their own languages so as to maintain their local identities, but also accept English as the universal tool that can make connections in a world of different languages or multilingualism” (Ferreiro 1997, 244). Establishing language programmes and helping people to become bilingual or multilingual seems to be a good, perhaps even a long-term, solution; however, the definition or selection of languages to teach can still be controversial. Decisions differ depending on political or even personal circumstances. For instance, in many places in Latin America, bilingual education will only mean and be commonly accepted as educating in Spanish and English and no more. A common phenomenon or challenge with young indigenous professionals, especially those in the sciences, is the need to speak at least three languages: a Mayan language when they are in the field, Spanish for meetings and training, and English to keep up with their discipline’s progress. As good as being trilingual might sound, the reality is that it is not an easy task, and many are now only choosing to speak two instead of three languages. As these studies have indicated, the opportunities and challenges for indigenous languages are not necessarily new and the question of whether technology is an advantage or disadvantage for indigenous languages remains open. Instead of continuing to evaluate more studies of the literature on this topic, it is important to return to our research question. That is, how may local communities use new information technologies to preserve and revitalize their local languages? Thus, from here on, we will provide a few examples of how people and organizations are using digital technology to help document, express, preserve, and share local knowledge. This will ultimately help to create diversity in the not so diverse digital age. There seems to be some good news around the corner for languages that are also written: machine translation is by no means perfect but it can certainly be a good start. The following are examples of international initiatives that are working with Indigenous communities to preserve their languages: –– Translators without Borders “facilitates the transfer of knowledge from one language to another by creating and managing a community of NGOs who need translations and professional, vetted translators who volunteer their time to help” (Translators without Borders 2015, §3). Their mission is to increase access to knowledge through humanitarian translations; –– Living Tongues: the mission of the Living Tongues Institute for Endangered Languages is “to promote the documentation, maintenance, preservation, and revitalization of endangered languages worldwide through linguist-aided, community-driven, multi-media language documentation projects” (Living Tongues 2015, §2);



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–– Talking Dictionaries: Talking Dictionaries is a website1 produced through the Enduring Voices Project (Talking Dictionaries). The website provides links to dictionaries of a number of indigenous languages based on “recording individual speakers and cataloguing translations of their various words and phrases” (National Geographic 2015, 1). Swarthmore College hosts the website and provides other support with funding from through the National Geographic Society and Living Tongues Institute for Endangered Languages (Swarthmore College 2015); –– Endangered Language Alliance (ELA) was established “with the goal of working with immigrant and refugee populations in New York and other cities, helping them document and maintain their languages. At the same time, ELA has worked through numerous outreach and education events to increase the public’s awareness of urban linguistic diversity” (Endangered Language Alliance 2015, §2); –– Endangered Languages is an “online resource for samples and research on endangered languages as well as a forum for advice and best practices for those working to strengthen linguistic diversity” (Endangered Languages 2015, §1). This project is sponsored by the Alliance for Linguistic Diversity.

Guatemalan Case Examples As stated in the introduction, Guatemala is one of those emerging countries in the field of telecommunications. The number of people with access to the internet has exponentially changed in the last few years. According to a 2014 report from the World Bank, internet penetration in the country has grown from 0.7% in 2001 to almost 20% in 2014 (World Bank Group 2015). This dramatic change is due to mobile telecommunication services; in fact, in most rural or Mayan communities, mobile broadband has become the solution to inadequate or non-existent fixed-line telephone services. Undoubtedly, the role of technology in developing societies can be debated as either positive or negative. Some experts have argued that ICT should not be a priority for developing countries, because resources would be better spent on eradicating poverty, malnutrition, or illiteracy. Some have demonstrated that, if done well, ICT can also go hand in hand with those pressing problems. One of the more recent publications on the topic of technology in Mayan communities is a master’s thesis, “Documentation of ICT Usage for Maya Development: A Case Study from Aguacatán, Guatemala” (Aubert 2013). 1 http://talkingdictionary.swarthmore.edu. Accessed on 27 February 2016.

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One of the major findings in this study was that “ICTs are present, but not used in accordance with the opportunities they give because of lack of skills and knowledge” (Aubert 2013, §1). What this interpretation suggests is that the hardware or infrastructure issue might have been fixed and now the problem is with technical skills. In other words, now they have their tools the next step is to understand how to make the best use of those tools. Thus, in this section we will illustrate selected examples of how Mayan people and organizations are using ICT to document, express, preserve, and share local knowledge. The methodology for this data collection was mainly the exploration and close observation of several websites related to Mayan communities and, in some cases, an informal interview was conducted with Mayan leaders.

Asociación Ajb’atz’ Enlace Quiché The Ajb’atz’ Association Enlace Quiché was established in 2003 as an expansion to a technological project initially funded by the United States Agency for International Development (USAID). Between 2000–2002, this project worked with local teachers and the Ministry of Education to create the first Technology Centres for Intercultural Bilingual Education (CETEBI), that allowed the development and publication of teaching materials in two Mayan languages, K’iche’ and Ixil. In 2003, with additional funding from USAID, they established new CETEBIs and began providing internet access and created more teaching materials in six Mayan languages. Their current services include language classes in K’iche’ and English, computer training, a technical dictionary in K’iche’, and an online and interactive Mayan ball game (Asociación Ajb’atz’ Enlace Quiché 2014a, 2014b).

Bibliotecas Comunitarias Riecken Two visionary individuals who wanted to look for a way to help others in Central America established the Riecken Libraries programme in the early 2000s. The mission of Riecken Community Libraries is to promote literacy, self-learning, critical thinking, and citizen participation. They currently support twelve rural libraries in Guatemala. In 2011, Riecken began publishing bilingual books in Spanish and Mayan languages: Tz’utujil, Mam, Ixil, and K’iche’. The book publishing programme aims to conserve traditional culture, inspire creativity, and value diversity. The books, developed through a grassroots process, empower local people to express their traditions and values in both word and art through high quality materials. This initiative helped position Riecken Community Librar-



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ies as an active promoter of Indigenous peoples’ rights to access relevant literature and information in their native languages. With the approval of the Ministry of Education and the Guatemalan Academy of Mayan Languages, many of the books are currently being used as textbooks in elementary schools (Riecken Community Libraries 2015).

Academia de Lenguas Mayas de Guatemala (ALMG) The Guatemalan Academy of Mayan Languages (ALMG) was founded in 1990 as an autonomous state organization. ALMG is the legal entity that regulates the use of the twenty-two Mayan languages spoken in the country. ALMG’s current programmes include: –– linguistic studies, involving research, linguistic vitality and recovery, standardization, normalization, and comprehensive development of Mayan languages; –– education, establishing of teaching-learning centres of Mayan languages, documentation centres and libraries; –– translation, maintaining and supporting a system of translations for everyone who needs it; and –– promotion and dissemination, broadcasting programmes through TvMaya (Academia de Lenguas Mayas de Guatemala 2014). The mission of TVMaya is the strengthening of Mayan languages, self-esteem, and cultural identity in a multilingual and multicultural nation. In August 2014, as part of the celebration of National and International Day of Indigenous Peoples, the ALMG, along with the Talking Dictionaries programme, created and published twenty-one dictionaries online, including translations in Mayan languages and Spanish and, in some cases, English as well (Academia de Lenguas Mayas de Guatemala 2015).

Dirección General de Educación Bilingüe Intercultural (DIGEBI) The Department of Bilingual Intercultural Education (DIGEBI) is a division of the Guatemalan Ministry of Education and its main objective is to design and make the process of intercultural bilingual education effective for children from Maya, Garifuna, and Xinkas communities. DIGEBI promotes and strengthens the educational policy for the integral development of Indigenous peoples, based on their languages and cultures as well as ensuring proper implementation of intercul-

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tural bilingual education at all levels. DIGEBI works in nineteen of the twenty-two departments (states) in the country and provides bilingual education in the following twelve Mayan languages: Q’eqchi’, Achi’, Kaqchikel, Ch’orti’, Poqomam, Mam, Q’anjob’al, Garifuna, Mopán, K’iche’, Tz’utujil, and Xinka. DIGEBI also maintains a publication programme with textbooks for elementary schools in Mayan languages. For those interested in learning more about DIGEBI’s Bilingual Intercultural Education Model please visit these publications available online (Guatemala Government. Ministerio de Educación 2015).

Proyecto Lingüístico Francisco Marroquín (PLFM) The Francisco Marroquín Linguistic Project (PLFM) was founded in 1969 as a nonprofit civil organization. The project is guided by principles of solidarity and respect for human rights and works as an organization that supports the language and cultural development of the Mayan people. The funding for PLFM is mainly derived from its own language program where they teach Spanish and Mayan languages to national and foreign students. Most of the work of PLFM is done in four Mayan Languages: Kaqchikel, K’iche’, Tz’utujil, and Q’anjob’al (Fundación Proyecto Lingüístico Francisco Marroquín 2015a, 2015b).

Instituto de Lingüística e Interculturalidad The Institute of Linguistics and Intercultural at Rafael Landívar University was created in 1986 to promote, coordinate, and support all activities related to linguistic research at the University. As an entity of linguistic research, the Institute assists in the systematization, standardization, and implementation of Mayan languages in different areas including education, culture, health, justice, and public management. The Institute has also published important documents and school textbooks in several Mayan languages with a focus on intercultural and bilingual education. The organizations listed above are selected examples of formally established entities with a clear commitment to revitalize, preserve, study, and promote Mayan languages. But in the age of the internet, more individuals have the potential to produce, contribute, or publish content in their preferred languages (Universidad Rafael Landívar 2015).



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Other Examples The following are selected and excellent examples of what other non-linguistic and non-academic programmes have done to promote the Mayan culture in Guatemala.

Videos on YouTube –– TvMaya is a multicultural channel with several dozens of videos that are organized into ten playlists (Tvmaya 2015); –– A 2014 hit song, “Pa’ Capital,” composed by Fernando Scheel and interpreted by Raquel Pajoc, is about the story of Mayan Kaqchikel girls moving from their villages to Guatemala city (Scheel and Pajoc 2014); –– A Maya K’iche’ version of Guatemala’s National Anthem sung by Celica Saquic and uploaded by TvMaya is also available on YouTube (Tvmaya 2012); –– A news report by the Guatemalan Ministry of Environment and Natural Resources of the Law on Climate Change was translated into four Mayan languages: Mam, Q’eqchi’, Kaqchikel, and K’iche’ (Diario Digital 2014).

Translations and Publications –– Wuqu’ Kawoq is a Maya Health Alliance founded in 2006 by two linguists, an anthropologist, and a physician. They have partnered with the ALMG and translated medical text into Mayan Languages and developed neologisms for medical terms (Wuqu’ Kawoq 2015); –– Cholsamaj, a Mayan publishing entity dedicated to the dissemination of the Mayan culture, publishes several books a year often written by Guatemalan or international scholars (Fundación Cholsamaj 2015); –– in 2011, the Episcopal Conference of Guatemala published a version of the Bible in K’iche’. This type of extensive translation can mean a great deal in a country where about 50% claim to be Catholics (Conferencia Episcopal de Guatemala 2014); –– in 2013, Mozilla Mexico worked with Guatemalan linguists and computer programmers to develop versions of the popular web browser into five Mayan Languages: Kaqchikel, Mam, Ixil, Q’eqchi’, and Tz’utujil. This type of initiative is a great example of what is possible with open source technologies (Mozilla México 2015).

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Final Thoughts Part of what makes the future quite exciting or maybe scary is the inherent uncertainty that it brings into our lives. As for the future of Mayan languages in Guatemala, a more comprehensive research study might be necessary in order to understand and predict what that future might look like especially in the years to come where new technologies will continue to modify the way we interact. What we have learned in this chapter is that there are a number of Mayan-driven initiatives taking place in Guatemala and, although a good percentage of children and youth may not be actively speaking a Mayan language, there are also a number of young Mayans participating in some of the organizations mentioned. Although this proMaya group might be in the minority, they are definitely able and empowered to accomplish much because of new technologies. In the end, perhaps it is not the quantity of Mayan activists who will help make a case for Mayan languages but the quality of such a selected and empowered group of Mayan individuals. Or maybe it is only a matter of time. For instance, as we were finalizing this work, the Guatemalan inventor of Duolingo, the most popular free app for learning languages, made a surprising and yet promising announcement about a possible future for Mayan languages. According to PrensaLibre, von Ahn said “although Duolingo is right now only supporting languages like English, Spanish, French, Italian, Portuguese ... we hope to use it to teach Mayan languages as well” (Prensa Libre 2015). It will be interesting to see if this announcement can take some formal action in the near future, given the current relationship between Duolingo and the Guatemalan government. One would expect that organizations such as the ALMG can coordinate a plan with Duolingo and maybe prototype a module for one of the most popular Mayan languages such as Kaqchikel or K’iche’.

Acknowledgments [In Maya K’iche’] Kinwaj k’ut kinmaltyoxij chike konojel ri winaqib’ ri xinkito’ che we jun ckak ri’ xuquje’ kaqaye’j k’ut utza’ taq jastaq chike ri Mayib’ taq ch’ab’al pa jun keb’ oxib’ junab! Special thanks to all the people who participated and assisted in the writing of this chapter. We all hope for some good news for the Mayan languages in the years to come!



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References Academia de Lenguas Mayas de Guatemala. 2014. “Achike Roj – Quienes Somos.” http://www. almg.org.gt. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Academia de Lenguas Mayas de Guatemala. 2015. “TV Maya: Misión, Visión y Objetivos.” http://www.tvmaya.org.gt/mision.html. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Asociación Ajb’atz’ Enlace Quiché. 2014a. “¿Qué Hacemos?” http://www.enlacequiche.org. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Asociación Ajb’atz’ Enlace Quiché. 2014b. “¿Quiénes Somos?” http://www.enlacequiche.org. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Aubert, Nina Benedicte. 2013. “Documentation of ICT Usage for Maya Development: A Case Study from Aguacatán, Guatemala” (master’s thesis. Norwegian University of Life Sciences). http://hdl.handle.net/11250/187953. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Conferencia Episcopal de Guatemala. 2014. “Sagrada Escritura en Idioma Quiché.” http://www. iglesiacatolica.org.gt/bibliakiche/. Accessed on 1 February 2015. Diario Digital. 2014. “Traducen a Cuatro Idiomas Mayas: Ley del Cambio Climático.” YouTube video. http://youtu.be/754OyzHxX3o. Accessed on 1 February 2015. Endangered Language Alliance. 2015. “Why ELA?” http://elalliance.org. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Endangered Languages. 2015. “About the Project.” http://www.endangeredlanguages.com. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Ferreiro, Soledad. 1997. “Dealing with Diversity and Digital Culture.” The International Information & Library Review 29(2): 237–245. Fundación Cholsamaj. 2015. “Quienes Somos.” http://www.cholsamaj.org. Accessed on 1 February 2015. Fundación Proyecto Lingüístico Francisco Marroquín. 2015a. “Proyectos.” http://www.plfm.org. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Fundación Proyecto Lingüístico Francisco Marroquín. 2015b. “Quienes Somos y Proyectos” http://www.plfm.org. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Grossman, Lev. 2006. “You – Yes, You – Are TIME’s Person of the Year.” Time 25 December. http://content.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1570810,00.html. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Guatemala Government. Ministerio de Educación. 2015. “Dirección General de Educación Bilingüe Intercultural.” https://www.mineduc.gob.gt/DIGEBI/. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Internet World Stats. 2015. “Internet World Users by Language.” http://www.internetworldstats. com/stats7.htm. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Kornai, Andras. 2013. “Digital Language Death.” PLoS One 8(10). doi:10.1371/journal. pone.0077056. Accessed on 14 June 2015. Living Tongues. 2015. “Our Mission.” http://livingtongues.org/our-mission/. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Mozilla México. 2015. “Firefox en Lenguas Indígenas.” http://www.mozillamexico.org/firefoxen-lenguas-indigenas. Accessed on 1 February 2015. National Geographic. 2015. “Talking Dictionaries: A New Way to Explore the World.” http:// travel.nationalgeographic.com/travel/enduring-voices/talking-dictionaries/. Accessed on 16 June 2015.

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Pilco, Sami Ayriwa. 2000. “La Red de Internet y los Pueblos Indígenas de América Latina: Experiencias y Perspectivas.” Taller Internacional de Periodistas Indígenas. http://www. eurosur.org/TIPI/sami.htm. Accessed on 1 February 2015. Prensa Libre. 2015. “Autor de Duolingo recibe distinción en la UVG.” http://www.prensalibre. com/tecnologia/Luis-von-Ahn-1295870411.html. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Riecken Community Libraries. 2015. “Where we Work: Library Locations.” http://riecken.org/ where-we-work/. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Scheel, Fernando and Raquel Pajoc. 2014. “Pa’ Capital.” YouTube video. http://youtu.be/ N4evy_IMFKQ. Accessed on 1 February 2015. Superintendencia de Telecomunicaciones de Guatemala. 2015. “Crecimiento de la Telefonía Fija y Móvil.” Cecimiento_de_la_telefonia_fiya_y_movil_2d_213.pdf. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Swarthmore College. 2015. “Talking Dictionaries.” http://talkingdictionary.swarthmore.edu. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Translators without Borders. 2015. “About Us.” http://translatorswithoutborders.org/About-Us. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Tvmaya. 2012. “Himno Nacional en Idioma Maya K’iche’.” YouTube video. http://youtu.be/ AZaio1avP7o. Accessed on 1 February 2015. Tvmaya. 2015. “Canal de ALMG y TV Maya.” YouTube video. https://www.youtube.com/channel/ UCXVPLP4nu3iwxtM11qcHB_Q. Accessed on 1 February 2015. Universidad Rafael Landívar. 2015. “Instituto de Lingüística e Interculturalidad.” http://www. url.edu.gt/PortalURL/Principal_01.aspx?s=53. Accessed on 1 February 2015. W3Techs. 2015. “Usage Statistics of Content Languages for Websites.” http://w3techs.com/ technologies/overview/content_language/all. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Walsh, Michael. 2005. “Will Indigenous Languages Survive?” Annual Review of Anthropology 34: 293–315. Warschauer, Mark. 2001. “Language, Identity, and the Internet.” Mots Pluriels 19. http:// motspluriels.arts.uwa.edu.au/MP1901mw.html. Accessed on 1 May 2015. World Bank Group. 2015. “World Development Indicators: Guatemala.” http://data.worldbank. org/country/guatemala. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Wuqu’ Kawoq: Maya Health Alliance. 2015. “Who We Are: Overview.” http://www.wuqukawoq. org. Accessed on 1 February 2015.

Loriene Roy and Ciaran B. Trace

11 P  reparing Entry-level Information Professionals for Work with and for Indigenous Peoples Introduction The focus of this book is to provide background on issues related to indigenous knowledge: its protection, ownership, and access. It is, in many ways, a professional course on the topic and serves to introduce the issues, key authors, and readings to some, while advancing discussion for others. As an educational tool, the book is concerned with how we might prepare those entering the workforce in libraries, archives, and museums to work with and for indigenous peoples on these efforts. In many cases, library, archives, and museum (LAM) professionals may not work directly with tribal communities but will work in settings that house traditional knowledge and its representations in various formats including print, recordings, and in digital expressions. Central to a discussion of educational preparation for information professionals who might work with and for indigenous peoples is: How may LAM workers be best prepared to balance the skills and attitudes of their professional practice and education with acknowledging, respecting, and supporting the philosophy and worldview of indigenous communities of origin? It is important to state that an indigenous library and information science (LIS) has not yet been framed. Its emergence is possible since progress in this direction has been seen in isolated course development, in the scholarship foci of selected LIS faculty members, and in the interests of cohorts of students at the master’s and doctoral levels. O’Neal notes, for example, that a number of archive and information science graduate programs are already “incorporating Indigenous ways of knowing and managing records into the curriculum” (O’Neal 2015, 1). Most of these educational initiatives are named and recognized, such as the Knowledge River programme at the University of Arizona, the Indigenous Information Research Group at the University of Washington, the First Nations Curriculum Concentration at the University of British Columbia, the Circle of Learning at San Jose State University, and Honoring Generations at the University of Texas at Austin. While these largely grant-initiated educational efforts have arisen at specific LIS programmes that typically are geographically close to indigenous people or have faculty with specialties in this area, it is useful to examine the

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opinions and experiences of faculty and recent graduates from a broader swath of graduate LAM programmes. This chapter is concerned with how to take the first steps in infusing knowledge of indigenous lifeways into the graduate-level education of information professionals. The first step is one of determining both the baseline level of knowledge that LAM faculty say they possess about indigenous lifeways, along with the amount of interest and basic awareness that recent graduates of their programmes demonstrate. This information is now available to us thanks to a US Institute of Museum and Library Services (IMLS) grant that provided the support necessary to gather and analyse these benchmark data. Before outlining the study, and its key findings, we begin by providing background on the academic discourse surrounding the topic of decolonization, particularly as it relates to education and approaches to teaching and learning. This discourse is used as a way of examining how pedagogy in other disciplinary areas acknowledges and tries to rectify the legacy and impact of their work with indigenous peoples. This type of profession-wide reflection has only recently begun within LAM education.

Decolonizing Disciplines Decolonization is a process of removal of the results of colonialism and the return of control to indigenous people. It is the revealing and stripping away of the processes and thinking that colonizing governments and their agents have imposed on indigenous peoples since their first contact. Much has been written about decolonizing academic disciplines since the publication of Linda Tuhiwai Smith’s landmark book, Decolonizing Methodologies, in 1998. Disciplines that have answered this call include conservation (Adams and Mulligan 2003), philosophy of education (Abdi 2012), biblical studies (Segovia 2000), sociology (Gutierrez Rodriguez, Boatca and Costa 2010), geography (Sundberg 2014), and theatre (Kumar 2014). Other disciplines have also taken steps to rectify any adherence to colonial practices and attitudes. These actions are taken along a spectrum of activities referred to as decolonization. Lonetree, for example, describes the practice and potential of decolonizing museum settings: “A decolonizing museum practice must be in the service of speaking the hard truths of colonialism. The purpose is to generate the critical awareness that is necessary to heal from historical unresolved grief on all the levels and in all the ways that it continues to harm Native people today” (Lonetree 2013, 6). Another example is seen in the discipline of social work, a field that is acknowledging its past actions including “stealing



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Indigenous children from their families, as well as standing aside when Indigenous Peoples’ territories, sovereignty and rights were seized by colonizing settler states” (Yellow Bird 2013, xxi). As part of the process of decolonization, calls have been made for social workers to condemn the “past and continuing effects of colonialism” (Yellow Bird 2013, xxi). The profession is asked both to acknowledge its “complicity in these unjust practices” and to “cease its participation in processes that disadvantage Indigenous peoples” (Yellow Bird 2013, xxi). The decolonization of social work means “acknowledging and harnessing the strengths of Indigenous communities” (Yellow Bird 2013, xii) and a membership that works in concert with indigenous Peoples to “engage in decolonizing actions” (Yellow Bird 2013, xxi). Archaeology provides us with an example of the call to decolonize the educational system within a particular discipline. Education is seen as playing a “critical role” in the decolonization process, work that involves not only critiquing “colonial practices and knowledge systems” but “modeling improved practices and approaches for the future” (Atalay 2006, 274). In this work of decolonization within archaeology’s educational system, it is clear that the reach needs to extend to both indigenous and non-indigenous students, and requires that both the theory and practice of archaeology be addressed so that “such forms of knowledge and approaches become a standard part of archaeological research designs, method, and theory” (Atalay 2006, 274).

Have the LIS Professions Engaged in Processes of Decolonization? The degree to which the LIS professions have engaged in processes of decolonization is open to debate. As library, archives, and museum associations have entered into ongoing discussion on issues relating to traditional knowledge and its expressions, this interest is reflected in the development of documents and protocols/etiquette statements; in the incorporation of indigenous ways into professional education guidelines; and in the emergence of Mukurtu, a new ethically based tool to adjudicate the balance between tribal community-based knowledge systems and the intellectual/cultural property usage along with the expectations of cultural heritage institutions. The heart of these efforts is the complex intersection between cultural protocols of indigenous peoples and professional values in holding, collecting, providing access, and using indigenous material and intellectual content.

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There have been pockets of energy within LIS that have specifically addressed some aspects of decolonization within the profession. This includes activities associated with civic engagement and service learning where students and faculty become partners with communities on fulfilling their needs (Roy, Jensen and Meyers 2009). Support for decolonization within LIS is also seen in writings in the area of social justice by scholars such as Mehra, Rioux, and Albright (2010), as well as in writings about the intersection between the information professions and human rights (Samek 2007). Support for intellectual freedom and service to underrepresented patrons are widely held views that help define the profession’s ethical platform and is, in essence, an LIS worldview. This professional attention to “doing good” and supporting individual freedoms illustrates a concern for individual needs, but is still distant from support for the needs of indigenous people. True decolonization within LIS would involve an apology, itemization of past harm done to indigenous peoples, and a vow to advocate for indigenous peoples’ control and access over their cultural expressions. The potential for an indigenous LIS is also seen in the growing attention in the professional literature to issues surrounding diversity. This includes writings and discussions on the issues of diversity among students enrolled in graduate programmes (Overall 2009); of diversity in collections curated by cultural heritage institutions (Naidoo 2014); and diversity among those creating materials, especially publications for children and youth, that will be housed in information settings (Reese 2015; Roy 2014). With regard to LIS education, in particular, there is growing attention given to competency documents and standards for LIS education that specifically address diversity issues. For example, diversity is addressed in four of five standards under which the American Library Association accredits master’s level programmes. Standard I, Systematic Planning, identifies one of eight student learning outcomes as addressing “the role of library and information services in a diverse global society, including the role of serving the needs of underserved groups” (American Library Association 2015, 4). Standard II, Curriculum, is assessed in terms of the degree to which it also “responds to the needs of a diverse and global society, including the needs of underserved groups” (American Library Association 2015, 5). To meet Standard III, Faculty, programmes have to have “policies to recruit and retain faculty from diverse backgrounds” (American Library Association 2015, 6), while Standard IV calls on programmes to “recruit and retain students who reflect the diversity of North America’s communities” (American Library Association 2015, 7). And, at the international level, IFLA has incorporated “Awareness of Indigenous Knowledge Paradigms” as one of the core elements expected in LIS curricula as outlined in IFLA’s Education and Professional Development Section’s Guidelines for Pro-



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fessional Library/Information Educational Programs (Smith, Hallam, and Ghosh 2012).1 As all of these efforts attest, there is the potential for an indigenous LIS that, like social work, “seeks effective culturally appropriate research, education and practice” (Gray and Hetherington 2013, 27). However, there are obstacles that will need to be overcome. O’Neal, for example, describes the challenge in preparing non-Native archivists to work with indigenous cultural materials, reminding us that practical and theoretical challenges will exist given that traditional education and training is taught largely from a Western perspective and by those who may “lack traditional knowledge of tribal practices” (O’Neal 2015, 12). A discussion of the presence of methods of colonialization within LIS education and professional settings, and the ability to decolonize such settings, requires the posing of hard-hitting questions, questions that must be answered from the perspective of indigenous students and patrons. Sample questions include: –– Have collections perpetuated harmful stereotypes? –– Have institutional policies abridged cultural protocols? –– Have LAM professionals championed those who have harmed indigenous peoples? –– Are these actions reflected in how collections are organized, described, and made available? –– Are the skills and attitudes of LIS respectful of native cultures? –– Can these skills and attitudes be effectively transported to tribal settings? –– With their focus on English and the printed word, are LAM institutions seen by tribal communities as agents of colonization? –– Do libraries, for example, represent formal educational institutions similar to boarding schools that restricted acceptable forms of knowledge and depressed native language and other cultural expressions? –– How are LAM workers regarded by tribal communities, especially if they are not tribal members and/or have received their professional preparation at educational settings far from tribal homelands? –– Social work is described “as a primarily Western caring science” where “social workers can alter their practice of social work to become more culturally grounded and locally relevant to have a positive impact on culturally diverse Indigenous and local peoples” (Gray et al. 2013, 8). Would we also describe the LAM disciplines as caring and would LAM professionals have the same capacity for flexibility and local connectiveness? 1 The guidelines are based on the Body of Knowledge (BoK), especially BoK 11 of the Library and Information Association of New Zealand/Te Rau Herenga o Aotearoa’s Professional Registration scheme (Lilley and Paringatai 2014).

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Assessing the Awareness of Indigenous Ways: An IMLS Collaborative Planning Grant As mentioned previously, an important first step in infusing knowledge of indigenous lifeways into the graduate level education of information professionals is determining both the baseline level of knowledge that LIS faculty say they possess about indigenous lifeways, along with the amount of interest and basic awareness that recent graduates of their programs demonstrate. In 2012, in partnership with the American Indian Library Association, we received a one-year collaborative planning grant from IMLS to acquire this benchmark data. In particular, we sought to measure awareness of Indigenous Ways among four audiences: LAM faculty, recent LAM graduates, tribal LAM professionals, and individuals who have served on committees or work groups that have produced recent professional documents on indigenous ways.2 This chapter focuses on the results from the survey of LAM faculty and recent graduates. To get that benchmark data we designed an attitudinal survey for each group of constituents that was approved by the Institutional Review Board of the University of Texas at Austin. An attitudinal survey provides information on people’s perceptions (emotions, feelings, attitudes) about an issue, in this case about “Indigenous Ways”. We defined “Indigenous Ways” as the traditional lifeways of the original peoples, often referred to as native people or by specific tribal names. Lifeways, also called worldview, is an approach to conducting everyday life, interaction with others, and philosophical or religious perspectives. The surveys were designed and administered using Qualtrics, a commercial online survey service for which the University of Texas at Austin has a campus-wide licence. Survey respondents were asked to answer questions about their awareness, experience, and thoughts about the place of Indigenous Ways for LAM professionals. Both survey instruments were pretested and comments from those completing the surveys were monitored and incorporated as slight refinements to the surveys. The surveys and their associated questions covered four main areas: –– people’s awareness of Indigenous Ways: had they heard of Indigenous Ways, were they aware of certain protocol documents, how well informed did they feel about Indigenous Ways, what were the issues about which they felt that lacked information?;

2 In this study, recent graduates were defined as individuals who had received graduate degrees from LAM programmes since May 2008.



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–– people’s opinions of Indigenous Ways: how faculty and recent graduates felt about Indigenous Ways, including their reaction to a number of statements relating to issues such as access, repatriation, copyright, etc.; –– the place of Indigenous Ways in education: the extent to which people felt LAM educators should include Indigenous Ways in the courses they teach and, whether, and in what ways, faculty currently incorporated Indigenous Ways into their curriculum; –– Demographics and background information. We used several approaches to deliver the call to LAM faculty and recent graduates to participate in the study including direct invitation through email, notices sent to relevant LAM professional listservs, and postings on social media.3 While we aimed for a wide broadcast of the invitation to complete the survey, we consider the sample of respondents to be purposeful rather than representative. The total number of responses (339 respondents) exceeded initial projections with the largest respondent pool being recent graduates (141), followed by faculty (135).4 Due to the sensitive nature of the topic we did not require that respondents answer every question in the survey, therefore the number of respondents completing any one question varied. In all, 72% of the recent graduates (101 of 141 respondents) and 68% of the faculty (92 of 135 respondents) completed all questions on the survey. Of the participants who divulged this information, the gender ratio among the faculty was 64% (61) female and 31% (29) male. Women made up a higher percentage of the recent graduates with a gender divide of 84% (84) female and 8% (8) male.

3 We sent direct email invitations to 120 faculty members, at least one at each of the programmes accredited by the American Library Association. In addition, a message was distributed to the American Indian Library Association electronic and Asian Pacific American Library Association lists for members, on the Society of American Archivists’ (SAA) archival educator’s electronic list, the list for those involved in the Archival Education and Research Institutes (AERI), and to list for Students and New Archives Professionals (SNAP) professionals. To reach museum educators and recent graduates, emails were distributed to the electronic list of the American Alliance of Museum’s Committee on Museum Professional Training, the MUSEUM-L list, to staff at the Western Museums Association and the American Association for State and Local History, and to selected museum studies faculty identified through a search on GradSchools.com. Notices about the surveys were also posted to our Facebook and LinkedIn communities. Faculty at LAM programmes offered to extend the call to recent graduates through their contacts and alumni lists. 4 Some initial cleanup of this data was required when it was ascertained that a number of the survey respondents did not meet the stated educational or professional requirements. This resulted in the removal of eight of the faculty surveys and three of the recent graduate surveys from the data pool.

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Of the 97 faculty who indicated their academic affiliation, the majority came from Schools of Library and Information Science/School of Information (68%) with a smaller number representing standalone museum studies (15%) or standalone archival programmes (2%). Within this faculty demographic, the survey drew responses from across the academic ranks with the largest group of respondents being assistant professors (22%), followed by full professors (21%), associate professors (17%), lecturer/instructors (14%), adjuncts (10%), and deans/chairs (5%). The majority of these faculty respondents (58%) had ten or fewer years of teaching experience. Of the 93 recent graduates who divulged their employment status, the majority worked in library settings (51%), followed by archives and museums (11% each), with the remaining respondents (28%) falling into an “other” category (including self-employed).

Results: Awareness of and Learning about Indigenous Ways We began by asking the respondents whether they were aware of the concept of Indigenous Ways (113 faculty and 122 recent graduates provided responses to this question). Eighty-six percent of the faculty and eighty percent of the recent graduates indicated that they had heard about the concept of Indigenous Ways and both groups indicated that their knowledge of this concept came through multiple channels. For the faculty, knowledge of Indigenous Ways came about primarily through readings and self-learning (27%), from professional contacts (colleagues) (19%), from education and courses (14%), through their professional work (13%), and through direct work with tribal communities (12%). Recent graduates heard about Indigenous Ways through their formal education studies for their undergraduate (50%), and graduate degree (43%), and/or through direct interaction with indigenous peoples (37%). Fewer graduate students had heard about Indigenous Ways as part of their work experience (24%) and/or as part of their communication with other LAM professionals (18%). Another question that was used in order to gauge awareness of the topic of Indigenous Ways concerned whether or not recent graduates and faculty had heard of key documents that provide guidance on how LAM professionals might interact with native peoples and their cultural expressions (113 faculty and 122 recent graduates provided responses to this question). The survey asked respondents to indicate whether they had heard of three documents, each of which has been instrumental in bringing discussion of indigenous matters before their pro-



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fessional communities: the Protocols for Native American Archival Materials (First Archivists Circle 2006); a report of a Presidential Traditional Cultural Expressions Task Force of the American Library Association (ALA), and the protocols statement of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Library and Information Resource Network (ATSILIRN 1995). For those that answered this question, the level of awareness among the faculty did not reach above 40% for any of the three documents (First Archivist Circle protocols, 40%; ALA task force report, 39%; and ATSILIRN protocols, 32%). The level of awareness of the protocol documents among recent graduates was lower than that of the faculty. More graduates were familiar with the First Archivists Circle document (30%) with fewer aware of the ALA task force report (15%) or of the ATSILIRN protocols (9%). A final set of questions in this area asked the participants how informed they felt about Indigenous Ways and to identify any and all issues about which they felt they lacked particular knowledge (see Figure 11.1). A slight majority (56%) of the 113 faculty who answered the question reported that they were fairly well or very well informed about Indigenous Ways. A smaller subset of the faculty (105) directly identified the issues about which they felt they lacked information in particular. The top issues identified were indigenous protocol or etiquette (72%, 76), sacred materials (61%, 64), and/or indigenous philosophies (56%, 59).

Figure 11.1: Issues about which respondents lacked information.

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When compared with faculty, fewer (41% compared to 56%) of the one hundred and twenty-one recent graduates who answered this question felt fairly well or very well informed about Indigenous Ways. More (119 respondents) of the recent graduates felt comfortable acknowledging what they did not know about Indigenous Ways, with over half reporting that they lacked information in all of the listed categories: indigenous protocol (82%, 98), sacred materials (63%, 75), indigenous philosophies (61%, 73), the place of indigenous language(s) (61%, 72), traditional cultural expressions (60%, 71), and indigenous identity/tribal membership (53%, 63).

Results: Opinions of Indigenous Ways The question of how people feel about Indigenous Ways is one that needed a great deal of clarification (see Figure 11.2). We gave both the faculty and recent graduates a range of thirteen emotions from which to choose any and all that resonated with them: interest/curiosity, indifference, hopeful/optimistic, fearful/ afraid, excited, angry, empowered, powerless, happy, sad, knowledgeable, confused, and don’t know. For those answering this question (108 faculty and 105 recent graduates), the top response for both faculty and recent graduates was that people felt interest/curiosity (89 %, 96; and 90 %, 95 respectively) and hopeful/ optimistic (52 %, 56; and 48 %, 50 respectively).

Figure 11.2: Feelings about Indigenous Ways.



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The most frequent comments under the category of interest or curiosity stemmed from faculty members’ desire to learn in a meaningful way about the people, cultures, and worldviews with whom they co-exist. For the faculty, this knowledge is seen as beneficial from a personal and a professional perspective. Some faculty felt a personal resonance with the topic or a resonance based on the part of the world in which they lived. Similar to the faculty responses, the most common response from the recent graduates centered on the sense of curiosity and interest people felt about learning and connecting with other cultures. Two recent graduates, for example, felt interest and curiosity about Indigenous Ways because of their own native heritage. For both groups there was a sense of hope and optimism that the importance of Indigenous Ways was being more broadly acknowledged by non-natives, including in classroom and professional settings. For faculty there was a sense that opportunities were arising to “address the injustices and wrongs of the past”. Recent graduates felt hope and optimism that dialogue and cooperation can be achieved with indigenous communities. Yet faculty and recent graduates also reported feeling confused (9%, 10; and 21%, 22 respectively) and sad (11%, 12; and 16%, 17 respectively) about Indigenous Ways. Faculty and recent graduates felt confused about issues such as the specific protocol or etiquette for working with indigenous scholars, the practice of regarding one tribal member’s input as representative for an entire community or tribal group, or a need for consistency in approaches to working with tribal members. A feeling of sadness was attributed to a mournful acknowledgement of the injustices of history and an equally sombre view of the current status and maintenance of native culture and language. One recent graduate simply stated they felt sad because they felt ill-informed on the topic. The final question in this section asked faculty and recent graduates whether they agreed, disagreed, or were unsure about seven statements that illustrate opinions about Indigenous Ways that have been expressed as part of the discussions of professional protocol documents (see Figure 11.3). These statements were: 1. Opening negotiations with tribal communities opposes my beliefs in intellectual freedom. 2. I am concerned that indigenous communities and others will not only require changes in access to content but will also request return of materials. 3. I am concerned that tribal communities will reclaim materials and then be unable to care for them properly. 4. If tribes ask us to limit access to the material we have about them in our collections, this will lead to reduced options for scholarship and academic study. 5. Accommodating tribal requests will lead to changes in practice that will be burdensome for libraries, archives, and museums.

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6. Copyright and patents provide adequate and rightful protection of intellectual content. 7. Opening agreements with indigenous communities will open the floodgates for approaches from other groups that will claim they should have control over traditional cultural expressions. Faculty (between 106 and 107 respondents answered each category) expressed the most agreement with statement four (40%, 42 agree; 44%, 47 disagree; 16%, 17 unsure), the most disagreement with statement one (90%, 96 disagree; 1%, 1 agree; 9%, 10 unsure) and were most unsure about statement seven (31%, 33 unsure; 20%, 21 agree; 49%, 52 disagree). Figure 11.4 shows that recent graduates

Figure 11.3: Responses of faculty.

(105 respondents) also expressed the most agreement with statement four (43%, 45 agree; 25%, 26 disagree; 32%, 34 unsure) and the most disagreement with statement one (88%, 92 disagree; 1%, 1 agree; 11%, 12 unsure). However, they were most unsure about statement two (35%, 37 unsure; 17%, 18 agree; 48%, 50 disagree). Thus, the concern of faculty and recent graduates was not about opening negotiations with tribal communities, rather that scholarship and academic study might suffer if LAM professionals abided by requests to limit access to material. The notion that opening agreements with indigenous communities would lead to a flood of similar requests by other groups was the statement about which faculty were most concerned. The recent graduates felt most conflicted about ideas of ownership versus repatriation when opening negotiations with tribal communities could result in the return of material.



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Figure 11.4: Responses of recent graduates.

Results: The Place of Indigenous Ways in Education In the final section of the survey we asked about the place of Indigenous Ways in education, including the extent to which people felt LAM educators should include Indigenous Ways in the courses they teach (see Figure 11.5). We also asked whether, and in what ways, faculty had currently incorporated Indigenous Ways into their curriculum (see Figure 11.6), and respondents (both faculty and recent graduates) were given a list of ten topics from which to choose: 1. Building collections that reflect accurate indigenous viewpoints. 2. Initiating and sustaining professional relations with tribal communities. 3. Discussing how to balance access to knowledge within the context of cultural protocols. 4. Negotiating access to tribal information. 5. Understanding the potential and acceptable use of technology in digitizing indigenous knowledge. 6. Incorporating indigenous approaches to knowledge organization including subject headings and cataloging systems. 7. The goals and achievements of professional organizations working on indigenous issues.

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8. Intellectual and cultural property rights issues. 9. Developing respectful public programmes such as storytelling events. 10. Repatriation: return of cultural material to originating indigenous communities.

Figure 11.5: Responses on incorporation into coursework.

Eighty-seven percent (89 out of 102 respondents) of the recent graduates who answered the question felt, at least to some extent, that their faculty should incorporate content on Indigenous Ways in graduate courses. Despite the high level of interest among the recent graduates, only 40% (41 respondents) said that they had an opportunity to discuss Indigenous Ways in the graduate courses they completed. Forty recent graduates reported that Indigenous Ways were most frequently discussed in the context of repatriation or the return of cultural material to originating indigenous communities (topic ten: 78%, 31), how to balance access to knowledge within the context of cultural protocols (topic three: 75%, 30), intellectual and cultural property rights issues (topic eight: 70%, 28), initiating and sustaining professional relations with tribal communities (topic two: 63%, 25), and building collections the reflect accurate indigenous viewpoints (topic one: 55%, 22). Ninety-five percent (99 out of 104 respondents) of the faculty who answered the question felt, at least to some extent, that their faculty should incorporate content on Indigenous Ways in graduate courses. However, only 70% (72) of the faculty reported that they actually had incorporated Indigenous Ways into the



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Figure 11.6: Topics covered in graduate coursework.

courses that they teach. In these instances, faculty reported that Indigenous Ways were mainly discussed in the context of intellectual and cultural property rights issues (topic eight: 76%, 55), how to balance access to knowledge within the context of cultural protocols (topic three: 75%, 54), building collections that reflect accurate indigenous viewpoints (topic one: 60%, 43), repatriation or the return of cultural material to originating indigenous communities (topic ten: 58%, 42), understanding the potential and acceptable use of technology in digitizing indigenous knowledge (topic five: 57%, 41), and initiating and sustaining professional relations with tribal communities (topic two: 51%, 37). The faculty also provided us with a list of one hundred and thirty-two courses in which they had covered these topics (see Figure 11.7), with clusters seen in courses relating to LAM development and principles, services to user populations, collection development, indigenous services and cultures, and types of libraries and information providers. Thus, Indigenous Ways appear to be incorporated into courses that focus on general topics or the specific needs of and services for specific user populations. It is rarely covered in courses dealing with search and retrieval systems or in management courses although both areas are ripe for exploring content such as use of IT in organizing and providing access to traditional knowledge and incorporating Indigenous Ways as a continuing education topic in training personnel.

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Figure 11.7: Courses in which Indigenous Ways are covered.

Discussion and Conclusion We are concerned with the academic preparation of LAM professionals and their ability to be receptive to the values, beliefs, and sensitivities of indigenous peoples. Our study does have limitations, especially with regard to the sample of participants who answered questions on the survey; results do not reflect a census of opinion across LAM programmes. That is, because we shared the invitation largely through existing contacts, it is likely that those who completed the surveys were those who knew us and/or possibly were in support of the study and its aims. Still we learned about our professions’ awareness of Indigenous Ways and results provide insight into student needs in this area. “Awareness” is a somewhat vague term that implies a general acknowledgement, a neutral stance that is neither supportive nor dismissive. By saying “I am aware”, a person indicates that they have heard but it does not necessarily imply that they understand or believe. It is a minimum or a benchmark. Awareness is not a set point but is a continuum with shades of meaning. First, we invited LAM faculty and recent graduates from LAM programmes to place themselves on this continuum, asking them to self-report if they felt that they were aware. A clear majority (80% of recent graduates and 86% of faculty) stated that they had heard of Indigenous Ways. Faculty and recent graduates had different explanations on how they acquired this awareness. For faculty, the most common route



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was self-study; recent graduates became aware of Indigenous Ways through their undergraduate or graduate coursework or through direct contact with indigenous peoples, indicating that their formal education may have been more culturally inclusive than the education paths that faculty had available to them. Even when mentioned in coursework, the survey results show that there appears to be room for more in-depth exploration of Indigenous Ways in graduate LAM education. One student compared the level of coverage of Indigenous Ways in her educational studies, indicating that her undergraduate degree had better prepared her for such understandings: “I’m aware of the clash between Western archival practice and Indigenous ways. My knowledge is mostly based on an undergraduate degree in cultural anthropology, so it is broad and not very deep or specific.” Other comments demonstrated that, even if Indigenous Ways were covered in graduate coursework, for some students a deeper awareness only came about as a result of individual study. As one student explained: “What little I know comes from independent reading and attendance at conference sessions where issues related to Indigenous ways/philosophies in library and archives work were discussed. I think it is a great, gaping hole in the curriculum at the school I attended ... as is attention to feminist approaches to library and archives work. Well, very broadly speaking, social justice issues/theories were generally missing.” To further elucidate on this dichotomous status, aware or not aware, we asked LAM faculty and recent graduates to be more specific about their level of awareness by verifying whether they were cognizant of three key professional documents that addressed protocols for dealing with indigenous cultural heritage material. The survey indicated that faculty were more aware of these documents, a result supportive of their pattern of acquiring background on this topic through self-study. Students were less aware, indicating that they did not always hear about these protocol documents in their graduate studies. However, acknowledgement of these three documents was not used as the sole measure to define our respondents’ awareness of Indigenous Ways; we also asked participants to indicate if they were familiar with six aspects of indigenous worldview: indigenous identity, language, traditional cultural expressions/traditional cultural knowledge, philosophies, sacred materials and protocol. At least half of the faculty who responded felt they lacked information on five of the six aspects. An even greater percentage of recent graduates felt they did not know about all six of these features of indigenous life. Both faculty and recent graduates felt least knowledgeable about protocol, the basis of opening conversation and interaction with indigenous peoples. We then continued to probe respondents’ thinking about Indigenous Ways by asking for their responses to two categories of questions: (1) statements that

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reflected a range of opinions about the impact of Indigenous Ways in the LAM workplace, as reflected in responses to the various protocol documents; and (2) assessment of their feelings (both positive and negative) about Indigenous Ways. Recent graduates expressed more uncertainty about the potential impact of Indigenous Ways in the workplace, indicating that this topic needs to be more fully explored in their graduate studies. Both graduates and faculty were most concerned about the impact that limiting access to traditional knowledge might have on scholarship. Still, both faculty and graduates felt strongly that Indigenous Ways should be incorporated into LAM curricula. Faculty, in particular, indicated their willingness to learn about Indigenous Ways for their own research as well as in their teaching: “as a ‘non-Indigenous’ scholar, [I would like to learn] how to satisfy my desire to learn without offending Indigenous scholars – how much I can learn and incorporate in my efforts to open the eyes of students to different ways of knowing while knowing that I am not qualified to speak of some of these ways.” With regards to their own feelings about the topic of Indigenous Ways, most respondents –both faculty and recent graduates – explained that they were interested. This indicates a receptiveness to the topic and a likelihood that people in both groups will seek ways to continue to learn and, in the case of faculty, provide the means to do so within their courses. This is born out in the responses to questions about the current placement of Indigenous Ways within LAM curricula. However, in assessing current inclusion of the topic in LAM curricula, only 40% of recent graduates said that they had an opportunity to discuss the topic as part of their graduate coursework, compared to 70% of faculty who reported that they did incorporate the topic in the courses they taught. The survey also highlighted a disparity between what faculty and recent graduates reported was covered in graduate coursework. The apparent difference between the graduate and student responses may be explained in several ways. It might be indicative of the sample with, perhaps, more faculty supportive of Indigenous Ways electing to complete the survey. Graduates and faculty may also have differing views of what it means for topics to be covered as part of the classroom experience. While faculty might consider a reference to the topic sufficient, students may consider in-depth discussion or directed assignments as more indicative of inclusion in a course. In addition, different levels of interest or concern about certain issues (repatriation, for example) may have played a role in what topics faculty and recent graduates reported were covered in graduate coursework. Student respondents might also have not elected to take certain courses where this coverage occurs. While the underlying tone of this study is support for Indigenous Ways within LAM curricula, we are also cautious with our recommendations. We understand the inherent difficulties, including the complex motives involved, when people



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come into contact with cultures unlike their own. As Gray et al. state (2013, 13), “there are problems associated with these motivations, not least their potential to perpetuate cultural imperialism and voyeurism, cultural homogeneity and ethnocentrism, outmoded charity perspectives and the exoticization of other cultures”. Incorporating Indigenous Ways into LAM curricula should therefore be conducted at a deep, contextual level, thus avoiding old patterns of tokenism. As one respondent noted: “As for the question about whether these should be taught in courses – yes! – but you need people who can teach these well and not tokenistically. Not any teacher would have the background knowledge and comfort to do this, but if we think about curricula as a whole (rather than on a course-by-course basis) perhaps we can address/redress this.” Another possible avenue for increasing at least base knowledge on this topic is to develop continuing education opportunities for LAM faculty and professionals. One recent graduate described her need: “I would really like to go to a workshop on incorporating Indigenous philosophy in archival curriculum. Since my own archival education was sorely lacking in this area, all I know about Indigenous philosophy is self-taught. I could really use some formal education on Indigenous ways. I have incorporated Indigenous materials and issues in my courses, but my own knowledge is deficient. I would be really excited to know more.” Thus, while we focused on how knowledge of Indigenous Ways is conveyed through formal LAM education, the survey results indicate this is a topic that may need to be studied across one’s professional life. Another crucial finding of the survey is that any discussion of Indigenous Ways, now and in the immediate future, will be difficult. The topic is sensitive, in large part because it brings forth strong sentiments and unresolved questions. Indeed, the issue of Indigenous Ways brought up feelings of anger for some faculty members and recent graduates. These feelings of anger arose from two contexts: ill treatment of indigenous peoples in history and in everyday life, and lack of response or engagement to topics surrounding Indigenous Ways within LAM communities. Yet, some respondents welcomed the opportunity afforded by the survey to elevate the importance of Indigenous Ways. As one respondent added: “Your work is very important. Many people take from community people, elders, but they do not give back or understand the importance of following tribal protocols and those of individuals who share with outsiders. It is important to everyone to listen, learn, and return the gift given us by tribal scholars who have vast knowledge and to treat sacred knowledge with great care and in accordance with tribes and individuals. Great job you are doing.” However, to a small number of respondents, the topic and our approach at gathering base-line data was considered insensitive. In particular, these respondents expressed a sense of frustration that their efforts in this area were not being

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acknowledged in the study: “I found this survey and its assumptions highly problematic and insulting to the profession – those who created the survey appear to think that their professional colleagues are not involved in repairing the damage of centuries of colonizing practices and working to rebuild relationships. There are challenges – but that list of agree/disagree questions around repatriating materials etc. – for those who are engaged in these and other initiatives – was sort of a kick in the gut – as though you aren’t aware of the work going on in the field.” Our study, and the comments contained within, indicate that many faculty and recent graduates are still mulling over their attitude and feelings to Indigenous Ways, while others are ready, and impatient, to move forward with the conversation. All of these viewpoints must be acknowledged and brought into ongoing dialogue, if any progress is to be made in incorporating Indigenous Ways in graduate LAM education. As we reflect on the overall goal of this study, we have come to understand that perhaps the real impact of incorporating Indigenous Ways in LAM graduate education is to help prepare entry level professionals who are “reflective non-native” people. That our goals are to help our colleagues become, as one respondent described herself/himself: “knowledgeable (to some degree) about the rights, tensions, and sensitivities pertaining to the holding of Indigenous materials in non-Indigenous repositories.” One respondent indicated that he/she was “ready” for Indigenous Ways. That expresses best the aim of graduate preparation for careers in libraries/archives/museums: that educator’s work with their students toward readiness to serve and work with indigenous peoples. Readiness to learn may lead to readiness to change LAM processes and practices in ways that move LAM education from its Western colonial model to one that is approaching a decolonization of LAM education and, possibly, someday a decolonization of LAM practice.

References Abdi, Ali. 2012. Decolonizing Philosophies of Education. Rotterdam; Boston: Sense Publishers. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders Library and Information Resource Network. 1995. “Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Protocols for Libraries, Archives, and Information Services.” http://www.wipo.int/export/sites/www/tk/en/databases/creative_heritage/ docs/atsilirn_protocols.pdf. Accessed on 6 March 2015. Adams, W. M. and Martin Mulligan. 2003. Decolonizing Nature: Strategies for Conservation in a Post-Colonial Era. London: Earthscan. American Library Association. 2015. “Standards for Accreditation of Master’s Programs in Library and Information Studies.” www.ala.org/accreditedprograms/sites/ala.org.accredi-



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tedprograms/files/content/standards/Standards_2015-adopted-02-02-15.pdf. Accessed on 5 March 2015. Atalay, Sonya. 2006. “Guest Editor’s Remarks: Decolonizing Archaeology.” American Indian Quarterly 30(3/4): 269–279. First Archivists Circle. 2006. “Protocols for Native American Archival Materials.” http://www2. nau.edu/libnap-p/protocols.html. Accessed on 6 March 2015. Gray, Mel, John Coates, Michael Yellow Bird and Tiani Hetherington. 2013. “Introduction: Scoping the Terrain of Decolonization.” In Decolonizing Social Work, edited by Mel Gray, John Coates, Michael Yellow Bird and Tiani Hetherington, 1–24. Farnham: Ashgate. Gray, Mel and Tiani Hetherington. 2013. “Indigenization, Indigenous Social Work and Decolonization: Mapping the Theoretical Terrain.” In Decolonizing Social Work, edited by Mel Gray, John Coates, Michael Yellow Bird and Tiani Hetherington, 25–41. Farnham: Ashgate. Gutierrez Rodriguez, Encarnacion, Manuela Boatca and Sergio Costa. 2010. Decolonizing European Sociology: Transdisciplinary Approaches. Farnham; Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Kumar, Bishun. 2014. “Decolonizing the Indian Theatre.” Language in India 14(4): 42. Lilley, Spencer and Te Paea Paringatai. 2014. “Kia Whai Taki: Implementing Indigenous Knowledge in the Aotearoa New Zealand Library and Information Management Curriculum.” Australian Academic & Research Libraries 45(2): 139–146. Lonetree, Amy. 2013. Decolonizing Museums: Representing Native America in National and Tribal Museums. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Mehra, Bharat, Kevin S. Rioux and Kendra S. Albright. 2010. “Social Justice in Library and Information Science.” In Encyclopedia of Library and Information Sciences, edited by Marcia Bates and Mary Maack, 4820–4836. Los Angeles: Taylor & Francis. Naidoo, Jamie Campbell. 2014. “The Importance of Diversity in Library Programs and Material Collections for Children.” http://www.ala.org/alsc/sites/ala.org.alsc/files/content/ ALSCwhitepaper_importance%20of%20diversity_with%20graphics_FINAL.pdf. Accessed on 6 April 2015. O’Neal, Jennifer R. 2015. “`The Right to Know’: Decolonizing Native American Archives,” Journal of Western Archives 6(1): 1–17. http://digitalcommons.usu.edu/westernarchives/vol6/ iss1/2/. Accessed on 25 February 2015. Overall, Patricia Montiel. 2009. “Cultural Competence: A Conceptual Framework for Library and Information Science Professionals.” Library Quarterly 68(1): 175–204. Reese, Debbie. 2015. “American Indians in Children’s Literature.” http://americanindiansinchildrensliterature.blogspot.com/. Accessed on 6 April 2015. Roy, Loriene. 2014. “Indigenous Children’s Literature.” In The Oxford Handbook of Indigenous American Literature, edited by James H. Cox and Daniel Heath Justice, 333–343. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Roy, Loriene, Kelly Jensen and Alex Hershey Meyers. 2009. Service Learning: Linking Library Education and Practice. Chicago: American Library Association. Samek, Toni. 2007. Librarianship and Human Rights: A Twenty-First Century Guide. Oxford: Chandos Publishing. Segovia, Fernando F. 2000. Decolonizing Biblical Studies: A View from the Margins. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis. Smith, Kerry, Gillian Hallam, and S.B. Ghosh on behalf of the Education and Training Section of the International Federation of Library Associations. 2012. “Guidelines for Professional Library Educational Programs.” http://www.ifla.org/publications/guidelines-forprofessional-libraryinformation-educational-programs-2012. Accessed on 11 January 2016.

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Smith, Linda Turiwhai. 1999. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples. London; New York: Zed Books; Dunedin, New Zealand: University of Otago Press. Sundberg, Juanita. 2014. “Decolonizing Posthumanist Geographies.” Cultural Geographies 21(1): 33–47. Yellow Bird, Michael. 2013. “Preface: United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples through Indigenous Eyes.” In Decolonizing Social Work, edited by Mel Gray, John Coates, Michael Yellow Bird, and Tiani Hetherington, xix–xxiii. Farnham: Ashgate.

Part Three: N  otions of Libraries, Archives, and Museums

Tyson S. Rinio

12 Cultural Relevance in Tribal Libraries Native American/Alaska Native libraries need to be established by local people taking into account the traditional worldview and integrating the traditional language as much as possible. Native American/Alaska Native people face social and personal challenges at a far greater rate than the general population of America. It is believed that these social ills are rooted in the historic separation of native people from their traditional cultures, loss of land, language, and sovereignty. This separation of people and culture and the resultant social ills are identified as a form of post-traumatic stress disorder called historical trauma. Psychiatric professionals have demonstrated success treating historical trauma by re-engaging people with their traditional values and culture. Tribal libraries, serving as living cultural centers, can play a role in Native communities’ struggle to address historical trauma. However, in order to genuinely reflect local native culture, these tribal libraries must be initiated by the local community government, built and maintained by local people, and must reflect local values and information needs. Furthermore, they must be organized in a way that is sensible to the local population who are using the materials in the tribal library. Without this grassroots, intimate level of community support and participation, these tribal libraries may ultimately fail to address the needs of their communities. Without this community creation and support, tribal libraries risk becoming simply one more irrelevant artifact of the Western world inserted into the lives of native people and may, in fact, play into the continued march of assimilation that is at the root of historical trauma.

Introduction Common responsibilities of many libraries include the collection of material and a responsibility to make that material available to library users. A fault in either responsibility is a failure of the library. It is important to look at our libraries and ask if they are fulfilling these responsibilities. In the model of the industrial revolution, Western library practice has been systematized across the United States. We see this in the two prominent classification systems, Dewey Decimal and Library of Congress. We see this with MARC records resulting in pre-determined metadata fields and widespread copy cataloguing. We see it in the almost exclusive use of English in our library catalogues and our collections.

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The strengths of these systematic cataloguing standards are obvious. If all libraries are the same throughout the nation, anyone familiar with the system can walk into any library in the country and use the catalogue to quickly find what they want. It makes cataloguing much simpler and faster, saving time and money. However, for Native American/Alaska Native people, there are concerns related to assimilation and colonization that must be considered. Colonization has resulted in rapid and traumatic cultural change – the loss of language, lands, governance, children, and legitimacy of thought – leading to widespread social challenges. All cultures need to store and retrieve information. For cultures with a history of abuse by Western people, a Western-style library may function as one more emblem of assimilation. Libraries in these communities must overcome a variety of hurdles to collect material relevant to the community and to provide the best access they can to that material. Like any library, they must consider their patron base and adjust library practice to meet the needs of those patrons. This reaction to patron need may result in a departure from standardized library practice. This chapter will discuss the challenges native communities may encounter with the traditional Western library, the basis for those challenges, and highlight some ways tribal libraries may address those challenges. This begins with a brief background description of Native American/Alaska Native cultural losses and the effect of those losses.

Background: Loss of Culture and Language Unfortunately for most American Indian children, their Indian identity was often viewed by the American government as an obstacle to be overcome if they were to succeed in the modern world. The history of federal Indian policy has been to separate Indian children from their culture (Harvey 1996, 170).

With colonial westward expansion, native nations and the United States found themselves in a conflict that resulted in the near genocide of native people and the destruction of native cultural traditions. In 1819, the Civilization Fund Act was passed and the United States government applied its assimilative policy using education as a means to further erode native culture (Alton 2005; Powers 2009; McCarty and Watahomigie 1998). The United States federal government realized some success in their attempt to assimilate native people. Abuse was common in the boarding schools (Brave Heart et al. 2011), and many native children learned to distance themselves from their heritage culture and heritage language (McCarty, Romero and Zepeda



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2006; Powers 2009), resulting in a decision that often lasted through their lives (McCarty, Romero and Zepeda 2006; Coyhis and Simonelli 2008; Morgan and Freeman 2009). Further, it is theorized that this trauma is passed down from generation to generation, which may contribute to the prevalence of continued mental health issues among native people (Brave Heart et al. 2011; Maxwell 2014). Today, while direct assimilation is no longer stated as government policy, assimilation and destruction of native cultures continues through several channels. Among the primary forces leading to cultural degradation are nationalized education policies (Ball 2004). A national curriculum fails to take into account local knowledge or allow time for students to study cultural knowledge. Another channel eroding native culture is mass media (McCarty, Romero and Zepeda 2006; Morris, Talbot and Lobo 2009). The use of media by the super-culture to inaccurately depict native cultures dates back to the early days of colonialism (Williams 2000). Today, much like nationalized education, this is probably not deliberate, but damage is still being done by the national media that undermine native self-image through inaccurate depictions of native culture (Kirmayer, Gone and Moses 2014). Language, which is intimately related to worldview and culture, is also threatened by the almost exclusive use of the English language in media which is broadly consumed by native people (McCarty, Romero and Zepeda 2006). The World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) has also recognized problems related to cultural appropriation. WIPO describes the problem this way, stating that indigenous peoples want “... protection for traditional forms of creativity and innovation, which, under the conventional IP system, are generally regarded as being in the public domain, and thus free for anyone to use. Indigenous peoples, local communities and many countries reject a “public domain” status of TK [traditional knowledge] and TCEs [traditional cultural expressions] and argue that this opens them up to unwanted misappropriation and misuse” (WIPO 2015, 10).

Background: Historical Trauma The military subjugation of native people throughout the Americas and corresponding relocation from traditional lands to reservations, and the cultural extermination that followed through US assimilation policy, did much to harm native people. Loss of culture, language, land, and full control over their lives has led to an inflated rate of social challenges such as substance abuse and physical and sexual violence. Some theorists believe these social challenges are an out-

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growth of a form of post-traumatic stress disorder called historical trauma (Robin, Chester and Goldman 1996; Brave Heart 1998; Coyhis and Simonelli 2008; Morgan and Freeman 2009; Brave Heart et al. 2011). A common theme has emerged as social workers, medical professionals, and psychiatrists have struggled to determine a way to manage these social problems. Embracing culture and introducing culturally appropriate responses to these challenges seems to be the most successful strategy for Native American/Alaska Native people to cope with historical trauma (Brave Heart 1998; Coyhis and Simonelli 2008; Morgan and Freeman 2009; Brave Heart et al. 2011; Gone 2013). In 2009, Morgan and Freeman wrote (2009, 90): An increased respect is given to healing practices that have lived underground, safe from the destructive winds of change. People who have suffered through decades, and in some cases, centuries of cultural confusion, deprivation, frustration, discouragement, and defeat are finding themselves empowered and regenerated. They are taking the reins of their own healing. The erosion of Native mental health, tied to the loss of traditional culture and support systems, is being reversed by a surge of spiritually based energy. The outcomes are feelings of renewed hope and challenge.

The Role of the Library While libraries cannot address all of these challenges, they can change their practices to better reflect the communities they serve and stop contributing to further cultural destruction. As discussed in previous sections in this chapter, many Native Americans/ Alaska Natives suffer from intergenerational grief brought on by racism, oppression, and genocide. Manifestations of this oppression are visible even today in books, academic papers, popular media, and educational policy. Library practice also stems from an inherently Western perspective that often neglects the minority worldview (Berman 1972). This takes shape in the materials collected, metadata, subject classifications, and even the position of books on the shelf. Librarians have been discussing the problems for several years and continue to examine the problem though little has been done about it. Alexander (2013) advocates for better academic library practices when handling American Indian/Alaska Native materials and suggests working closely with American Indian Studies programs on campus. Kam (2007) and Tomren (2003) examine the inherent cultural biases in Library of Congress Classification. Tomren makes the point succinctly: “These classification systems and subject headings reflect the Eurocentric, male, Christian orientations of their origina-



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tors as well as the time period in which they were constructed” (Tomren 2003, 1). Lincoln describes the biases in the arrangement of Alaska Native languages used by the Library of Congress as “... misleading, out of date, and simply linguistically inappropriate. Inconsistencies, errors, and misrepresentations appeared throughout the categories, which did not consider geographical, ethnic, or linguistic accuracy” (Lincoln 2003, 275). The problem of cultural bias isn’t restricted to libraries; others have noted the problem as well. The First Archivist Circle, “... a group of nineteen Native American and non-Native American archivists, librarians, museum curators, historians, and anthropologists gathered at Northern Arizona University ...” (First Archivist Circle 2006, ¶3) and drafted the Protocols for Native American Archival Materials, in an attempt “... to identify best professional practices for culturally responsive care and use of American Indian archival material held by non-tribal organizations” (First Archivist Circle 2006, ¶3). Developing better professional practices for libraries, archives and museums is a noble goal worthy of pursuit. However, continuing to rely on institutions from outside native cultures to accurately understand and organize those cultures in a library is a losing bet. No one is better equipped to know and represent the worldview of a native community than the members of that community. It is this cultural element that makes it so important for native communities to build their own libraries and to consider establishing their own best practices for their local material. Ball discusses the need for indigenous peoples to feel confident in their worldview and to be able to pass that understanding on to their children (Ball 2004). Ball was discussing education and, since libraries play a role in education, Ball’s argument can be extended to them. Ball insists that the community be at the heart of locally driven education policy and so the community must be at the heart of the library and its operation. Libraries should be built to serve the needs of their local communities. If a library is in a largely Spanish-speaking neighbourhood, they naturally will acquire Spanish language materials. A culturally responsible library has an obligation to house materials for their local community in which both the materials collected and the catalogue used to find those materials are in that community’s traditional language. The collection should represent that community’s worldview. The library should collect media that has significance for that community that is often identified in the collection development policy. Tribal libraries can, and should, go a step further by building a cataloguing system, collecting the associated metadata, describing the materials in cultural terms that represent local understanding and then organizing the data along traditional lines. As great as Dewey Decimal and the Library of Congress classification systems are,

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they may not appropriately represent the organization of knowledge for cultures not of European descent (Tomren 2003; Kam 2007). For example, currently the Library of Congress classification places Native Americans/Alaska Natives in the history section (E51–99). This could be interpreted as the continued Western conceit that native people and issues exist only in the past. The Brian Deer classification system (Xwi7xwa Library 2015) used by some First Nations in Canada attempts to remedy this gap by narrowing its focus to only indigenous (First Nations, Metis, and Inuit) issues, much in the way the Superintendent of Documents (SuDocs) classification system is limited to publications of the US federal government. Under Brian Deer, native education falls under the letter E with separate sections for the Mokakit Indian Education Research Association, British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Ontario, Quebec, Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, the Yukon and the Northwest Territories. This narrow focus provides a significantly different organization scheme that holds more meaning for First Nations in Canada. It also, consequently, takes indigenous (First Nations, Metis, and Inuit) people out of history and places them squarely in the present, something which is a philosophically significant divergence from the concept that indigenous (First Nations, Metis, and Inuit) people only exist in the past. The Māori Subject Headings/Nga Upoko Tukutuku being used by the National Library of New Zealand/Te Puna Mātauranga o Aotearoa are another approach to bridging this gap. These subject headings are written in the traditional Māori language to describe terms, objects, and ideas specific to Māori people in the hope of enhancing library “... service to Māori library users” (Whakahau, Aotearoa and New Zealand 2006, ¶3). For example, instead of only using the English language subject heading maps, there is a subject heading titled “mahere”. The tahūhū or broader term is Pūtaiao, and the Heke (narrower terms) are listed as: mahere moana, mahere whenua, and mahere whetū. This not only improves access for Māori library users, but it shows respect; the library belongs to them too. Historical trauma has been interrelated with the persecution of language, culture, and worldview. Mitigating the effects of historical trauma has been demonstrated through an embrace of culture. Libraries, when they are culturally appropriate institutions that are wanted by the community, may also serve this end as “... valued repositories of unique languages, cultures and knowledge” (Newbold 2011, 79). Libraries may serve as institutions that can combat continued negative cultural changes, including historical trauma, on a community scale. After generations of active oppression, having a building filled with stories that not only genuinely reflect and celebrate the worldview of the local community but also represent those ideas in the local language while organizing and describing them in a culturally appropriate way may help to renew a sense of pride. This



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affirms that the local view of history is important, that the local worldview is valid, and that the local language is relevant for more than communication in the home. Both traditional knowledge and traditional cultural expressions have become a concern for many indigenous peoples in recent years. While groups like the WIPO and the First Archivist Circle have developed protocols to guide the dominant culture in handling items that may be culturally sensitive, these protocols are largely voluntary. However, a tribal library can restrict access to culturally sensitive material in its collection any way that it wants. While this in no way affects TCE or TK outside of the immediate control of the local community, it is another way that the local library can play a positive role for indigenous people. It is a means of empowering native people to have control over their information. As sovereign nations, Native American/Alaska Native communities have a need to collect, organize, and retrieve information, and they have a right to do it in the way that suits them best. When entering a French library, one wouldn’t expect the catalogue to be displayed in English or the books on the shelves to be written in English. There may be English volumes but it is, after all, a French library. So, too, should tribal libraries be constructed. Sovereignty gives native nations the authority to set up cultural repositories and, in turn, those repositories strengthen the sovereignty of their nation. There are a few examples of libraries, museums, or archives that have already done this. One is the Seneca Nation Archive in New York State. At the 2011 Alaska Native Libraries, Archives, Museums Summit in Anchorage, Alaska, David George-Shongo, a Seneca Nation archivist, spoke about his efforts to introduce cultural relevance into the Seneca Nation Tribal Archives. He talked about building metadata for his archive that reflected the cultural view of the Seneca Nation. For example, stories or songs that were only used seasonally were marked with that seasonal metadata. Management of TCE was also utilized by the Seneca Nation Archive. Under certain circumstances, these culturally sensitive songs were only circulated during the appropriate time of year – an idea that goes directly against the Western philosophy that all things should be available to all people, all of the time. Men’s objects or women’s objects were also catalogued to reflect this cultural use. George-Shongo indicated that he wasn’t stopping a man from examining a woman’s object but that it was culturally significant that the man in question should know what it was he was going to look at before he picked it up. It’s culturally relevant information that a Western-trained archivist using OCLC MARC metadata would never consider. The Mashantucket Pequot Archives and Special Collections is another example of a native nation taking control of their identity and presenting it to the public in a way that represents their worldview (Harvey 1996; Stillman 1998;

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Bodinger de Uriarte 2003). The Mashantucket Pequot Nation is one of the first Native American nations to establish a casino. During the late 1990s, it was estimated the Foxwoods Resort Casino was grossing more than one billion dollars per year (Bodinger de Uriarte 2003). While Foxwoods has fallen on hard times (Sokolove 2012), during its heyday some of the revenue from the Casino was funneled into a 135 million dollar museum that relates the history of the Mashantucket Pequot Nation (Stillman 1998). What makes this museum particularly remarkable is its use as a means of controlling identity. The Mashantucket Pequot people are not allowing anthropologists or historians to tell their story; they are telling it, highlighting the elements of their history that have meaning to them, and promoting collections of materials that have relevance to the local people today, such as an installation pertaining to the depiction of Native Americans in popular culture or the recorded experiences of Native American cancer survivors (Mashantucket Pequot Museum & Research Center 2013).

Barriers to Overcome Establishing, or changing, existing tribal libraries with community input is important to cultural preservation. However, there are several barriers that complicate the creation of such spaces. The first barrier is funding. Finding or constructing a building to house the library, staffing, collection development, electricity and insurance, among many other costs make libraries expensive to set up and maintain. Many native communities simply do not have the monetary resources to devote to a library when they have other more pressing community concerns such as basic utilities, roads, and social services that need their limited financial resources (Patterson 2000). Some nations have overcome this problem, at least temporarily, with casinos on reservation land. While casinos can bring a badly needed infusion of money to a financially struggling reservation, competition among reservation based casinos mixed with a poor US economy has changed even this golden goose into a risky bet (Sokolove 2012). Alaska Native communities currently lack the legal designation to host gaming services. All of these communities will need to find ways to stimulate economic development to support their library. Assuming the barrier of money can be overcome, communities will need knowledge of library practices to establish and run a community library. Knowledge of library science is limited in many Native American/Alaska Native communities. Despite the American Library Association recognizing the need for librarians from diverse backgrounds (American Library Association 2008), native



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students graduating from library science programmes in the United States are still significantly lower than their representation in the population (Patterson 2000; Montiel-Overall and Littletree 2010). However, there are a few programmes, such as Knowledge River at the University of Arizona and Circle of Learning at San Jose State University, that are working hard to increase the number of Native American/Alaska Native students earning a master’s degree in library science. Knowledge River had an unprecedented 93% graduation rate between the years 2002 and 2008 (Montiel-Overall and Littletree 2010). Knowledge River is also working hard to allow students to take distance courses, recognizing that native students living in their reservation communities have important ties that give them a “... perspective that differs from individuals who leave the reservation” (Montiel-Overall and Littletree 2010, 82). This local perspective is at the foundation of building a successful tribal library that genuinely meets the needs of the local library patrons. While an understanding of library theory and practice can be taught in just a few years, worldview and an intimate knowledge of culture cannot. The cultural knowledge and innate understanding of a traditional worldview that Native American/Alaska Native librarians can bring to their community libraries is beyond what any institution of higher education can impart to them. While Knowles and Jolivet refer to all minority groups the following point holds special relevance for Native American/Alaska Native librarians whose language and culture may be essential to their social wellbeing: “Librarians of color are crucial to the provision of services in communities where knowledge of the language, the values, and the cultural heritage of the growing racial and ethnic minority communities is imperative” (Knowles and Jolivet 1991, 189). The tools used by the library – the catalogue, the metadata, and the language – can also be changed to better accommodate indigenous library users. Library users whose first language is not English, may struggle with an English-only library interface. Utilizing the local language as much as possible while providing an English portal can only benefit language preservation and language revitalization for those communities that want it. The language barrier touches all aspects of the library from the language the books are written in, library signage, the catalogue interface, and the subject terms used. Language and culture are intimately related to worldview. This may require new words to be invented by the community to handle concepts that are new to the culture. For example, George-Shongo used the example that the Seneca Nation didn’t have a heritage word for a computer file. He consulted with Elders in the community to find a new word that expressed that idea in the local language. There may be a technical language barrier related to computer knowledge that needs to be overcome as well. Paired with the use of the local language, it

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may be necessary to build a new cataloguing system that organizes information in a culturally relevant way, or the library may require collection of metadata that reflects the cultural need much as the Seneca Nation has. This will vary from community to community, requiring diversity in approach and model. It may be that the traditional library filled with rows of books isn’t the right model for every community. Again returning to the definition that libraries collect information and make that information available, it need not be made up of books at all. Certainly those few academic libraries that replaced their physical collections in favour of purely online collections are still libraries. If a native community was culturally dedicated to maintaining only an oral tradition, perhaps that library would be a building where elders relate knowledge through storytelling. The important point is that the local community needs to decide what that library is, how it functions, and what needs it is intended to fill. Assuming one could find indigenous librarians to serve every community, pay them a good salary, and build a catalogue and collection that reflected the needs and cultural worldview of the community using the traditional language, one more barrier remains: where are the culturally relevant library materials? There is a dearth of material being generated by any given native nation in their traditional language that reflects their traditional worldview. Hard numbers were beyond the scope of this paper; however, it is likely that there is not enough locally generated media to fill most tribal libraries. There are exceptions, of course: the Lakota language has a body of written material dating back more than 175 years to draw on (Powers 2009), but this is the exception, not the rule. The final piece of this puzzle is the generation of content by native communities. These local libraries must have something to collect: this is control of image and identity which is something native people have not fully had since first contact with the Western world in 1492. This is also slowly changing. Native American/Alaska Native authors are becoming more common. Star Wars, the popular science-fiction film, has been translated into Navajo (Donovan 2013). Musicians, artists, filmmakers, and photographers are finding ways to tap into social networking, YouTube, and Facebook using the internet to circulate media. “Despite the digital divide, Native American presence on the web continues to expand, and Native American cultural representations are growing exponentially with the advent of the web and new media” (Morris, Talbot and Lobo 2009, 203).



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Conclusion We do not want to be perceived, as libraries often are, as a component of a white, European imperialist institution but rather as supportive partners in this process of cultural reassertion. Thus, our methodologies of selection, preservation, classification, access, and dissemination may need to be refashioned and explained in terms that fit into the vision and philosophy of connectivity to Alaska Native cultures (Lincoln 2003, 266).

Sovereignty is an expression of native people affecting the world around them. This allows them to strengthen and promote culture, that in turn works to alleviate social challenges brought on by generations of genocide and assimilation. Strengthening culture and combating social challenges strengthens sovereignty. In the end, hopefully, native people will be better able to pursue a good life of their choosing, not defined from outside, but defined from inside the community according to local values. On a fundamental level, this paper is a call for tribal libraries to strike away from the uniformity of Western library practices and to develop their own library practices that work best for them. The uniformity of the Western world works directly at cross purposes to diversity and the support of diverse cultures – the very thing that tribal libraries should be working to preserve. This isn’t to suggest reinventing things that work well – rather a reassessment of tribal library practices, the rejection of systems that do not serve the needs of the local communities, and the creation of better, more culturally relevant practices that may be unique to any given population. Affirming culture, strengthening sovereignty and addressing a myriad of social challenges is a tall order and certainly not one a tribal library is going to be able to tackle on its own. However, the library can be part of the circle of national sovereignty, cultural promotion, and, ultimately, societal health.

References Alexander, David L. 2013. “American Indian Studies, Multiculturalism, and the Academic Library.” College & Research Libraries 74(1): 60–68. Alton, Thomas. 2005. “Politics, Economics, and the Schools: Roots of Alaska Native Language Loss since 1867.” Alaska History 20(2): 19–41. American Library Association. 2008. “Standards for Accreditation of Master’s Programs in Library & Information Studies.” http://www.ala.org/accreditedprograms/sites/ala.org. accreditedprograms/files/content/standards/standards_2008.pdf. Accessed on 23 February 2015.

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Ball, Jessica. 2004. “As if Indigenous Knowledge and Communities Mattered: Transformative Education in First Nations Communities in Canada.” American Indian Quarterly 28(3/4): 454–479. Berman, Sanford. 1972. “Libraries to the People!” In Revolting Librarians, edited by Celeste West and Elizabeth Katz, 51–57. San Francisco: Booklegger Press. Bodinger de Uriarte, John J. 2003. “Imagining the Nation with House Odds: Representing American Indian Identity at Mashantucket.” Ethnohistory 50(3): 549–565. Brave Heart, Maria Yellow Horse. 1998. “The Return to the Sacred Path: Healing the Historical Trauma and Historical Unresolved Grief Response among the Lakota through a Psychoeducational Group Intervention.” Smith College Studies in Social Work 68(3): 287–305. Brave Heart, Maria Yellow Horse, Josephine Chase, Jennifer Elkins and Deborah B. Altschul. 2011. “Historical Trauma among Indigenous Peoples of the Americas: Concepts, Research, and Clinical Considerations.” Journal of Psychoactive Drugs 43(4): 282–290. doi: 10.1080/02791072.2011.628913. Accessed on 23 February 2015. Coyhis, Don and Richard Simonelli. 2008. “The Native American Healing Experience.” Substance Use & Misuse 43(12/13): 1927–1949. doi: 10.1080/10826080802292584. Accessed on 23 February 2015. Donovan, Bill. 2013. “Star Wars Saga to be translated into Dine language.” Navajo Times 22 April. http://www.tulalipnews.com/wp/2013/04/22/star-wars-saga-to-be-translated-intodine-language/. Accessed on 23 February 2015. First Archivists Circle. 2006. “Protocols for Native American Archival Materials.” http://www2. nau.edu/libnap-p/protocols.html. Accessed on 6 March 2015. Gone, Joseph P. 2013. “Redressing First Nations Historical Trauma: Theorizing Mechanisms for Indigenous Culture as Mental Health Treatment.” Transcultural Psychiatry 50(5): 683–706. Harvey, Sioux. 1996. “Two Models to Sovereignty: A Comparative History of the Mashantucket Pequot Tribal Nation and the Navajo Nation.” American Indian Culture & Research Journal 20(1): 147–194. Kam, D. Vanessa. 2007. “Subject Headings for Aboriginals: The Power of Naming.” Art Documentation: Bulletin of the Art Libraries Society of North America 26(2): 18–22. Kirmayer, Laurence J., Joseph P. Gone and Joshua Moses. 2014. “Rethinking Historical Trauma.” Transcultural Psychiatry 51(3): 299–319. Knowles, Em Claire and Linda Jolivet. 1991. “Recruiting the Underrepresented: Collaborative Efforts between Library Educators and Library Practitioners.” Library Administration & Management 5(4): 189–193. Lincoln, Tamara. 2003. “Cultural Reassertion of Alaska Native Languages and Cultures: Libraries’ Responses.” Cataloging & Classification Quarterly 35(3/4): 265–290. Mashantucket Pequot Museum & Research Center. 2013. “Mashantucket Pequot Museum & Research Center.” http://www.pequotmuseum.org/. Accessed on 23 February 2015. Maxwell, Krista. 2014. “Historicizing Historical Trauma Theory: Troubling the Trans-Generational Transmission Paradigm.” Transcultural Psychiatry 51(3): 407–435. McCarty, Teresa L., Mary Eunice Romero and Ofelia Zepeda. 2006. “Reclaiming the Gift: Indigenous Youth Counter-Narratives on Native Language Loss and Revitalization.” American Indian Quarterly 30(1/2): 28–48. McCarty, Teresa L. and Lucille J. Watahomigie. 1998. “Language and Literacy in American Indian and Alaska Native Communities.” In Sociocultural Contexts of Language and Literacy, edited by Bertha Perez, 69–98. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.



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Montiel-Overall, Patricia and Sandra Littletree. 2010. “Knowledge River: A Case Study of a Library and Information Science Program Focusing on Latino and Native American Perspectives.” Library Trends 59(1/2): 67–87. Morgan, Robert and Lyn Freeman. 2009. “The Healing of Our People: Substance Abuse and Historical Trauma.” Substance Use & Misuse 44(1): 84–98. doi: 10.1080/10826080802525678. Accessed on 23 February 2015. Morris, Traci L., Steve Talbot and Susan Lobo. 2009. “Native Representations: Media and the Arts.” In Native American Voices, 201–236. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson. Newbold, Elisabeth. 2011. “Emerging Trends in Native American Tribal Libraries.” Advances in Librarianship 33: 75–103. Patterson, Lotsee. 2000. “History and Status of Native Americans in Librarianship.” Library Trends 49(1): 182–193. Powers, William K. 2009. “Saving Lakota: Commentary on Language Revitalization.” American Indian Culture and Research Journal 33(4): 139–149. Robin, Robert W., Barbara Chester and David Goldman. 1996. “Cumulative Trauma and PTSD in American Indian Communities.” In Ethnocultural Aspects of Posttraumatic Stress Disorder: Issues, Research, and Clinical Applications, edited by Anthony J. Marsella, Matthew J. Friedman, Ellen T. Gerrity and Raymond M. Scurfield, 239–253. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Sokolove, Michael. 2012. “Foxwoods Is Fighting for Its Life.” New York Times Magazine 14 March. http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/18/magazine/mike-sokolove-foxwood-casinos. html?pagewanted=all&_r=0. Accessed on 23 February 2015. Stillman, Lisa. 1998. “Mashantucket-Pequot Museum.” Curator: The Museum Journal 41(4): 275–278. doi: 10.1111/j.2151-6952.1998.tb00844.x. Accessed on 23 February 2015. Tomren, Holly. 2003. “Classification, Bias, and American Indian Materials.” San Jose State University, Unpublished Manuscript. Available from http://ailasacc.pbworks.com/f/ BiasClassification2004.pdf. Accessed on 29 January 2015. Whakahau, Te Ropu, Library & Information Association of New Zealand Aotearoa, and National Library of New Zealand. 2006. Māori Subject Headings. Wellington, New Zealand: National Library of New Zealand. http://mshupoko.natlib.govt.nz/mshupoko/index.htm. Accessed on 29 January 2015. Williams, Carol J. 2000. Framing the West: Race, Gender, and the Photographic Frontier in the Pacific Northwest. New York: Oxford University Press. World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO). 2015. Intellectual Property and Genetic Resources, Traditional Knowledge and Traditional Cultural Expressions: Overview. Geneva: World Intellectual Property Organization. http://www.wipo.int/edocs/pubdocs/en/ tk/933/wipo_pub_933.pdf. Accessed on 25 January 2016. Xwi7xwa Library. 2015. “Brian Deer Classification Scheme.” http://xwi7xwa.library.ubc.ca/ files/2011/09/deer.pdf. Accessed on 23 February 2015.

Alyce Sadongei and Jill M. Norwood

13 Inspired by Land and Spirit Tribal Museums and Cultural Practice

Introduction What is cultural knowledge in a tribal museum setting? How does it get there? How is it defined? How is it expressed? Most tribal museums employ basic techniques of standard museum practice that include exhibits, public programmes, research, and collections care to express and present cultural knowledge. However, there is also a critical yet subtle addition to basic museum methods that many tribal museums use that we have identified as “cultural practice”. Cultural practice, when defined and applied to a local community context such as tribal museums, provides the foundation for how the entire museum operates, yet its subtleness can often defy detection. In this chapter we discuss cultural practice as it applies to tribal cultural programmes. Using examples from three tribal museums and one language partnership we illuminate its pervasiveness, strength, and evolving transformative qualities that can influence current and future cultural programme development.

Cultural Practice Our definition of the term cultural practice for this chapter means applied cultural knowledge in a local, community context. For our discussion, we will provide examples of how cultural practice originates from the community and how it is expressed in the unique setting of a tribal museum or cultural centre. Additionally the term cultural practice complements the professionally accepted term “museum practice”, a broadly defined terminology that encompasses the basic activities of a museum. Further, the use of the word “practice” implies its repeated use and, in this case, it also reflects the unending use of tribal cultural knowledge. The concept of cultural practice is intuitive for many native people and, as such, its definition is laden with the intangible expressions of spirituality, values, respect, memory, reverence, worldview, and cosmology. It is manifested in community by religious practices, ceremonial ritual and observances, stories infused with moral guidance, using heritage language, and an understanding of the relational equity humans have with the natural world and all its elements



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including animals, plants, clouds, and stars. To provide context for understanding cultural practice as it relates to tribal museums, it is important to review their history and rationale in the United States. We specifically want to consider their trajectory of training and education to tribal museum personnel.

Background on Tribal Museums in the United States Tribal museums have a long presence in the United States. It has been documented that the very first museum was established in the mid 1800s by an individual family from the Tuscarora reservation in New York State (Abrams 2002). Tribal museum development continued in sporadic increments beginning in the 1950s, increasing through the 1970s and again in the 1990s (Cooper 2006). The rise of tribal museum development in the 1970s was due in part to federal block grants designed to encourage economic development. Grants were earmarked for such projects as museums and motels. Federal Congressional activity continued to raise tribal museum awareness when President George H. W. Bush signed into law the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI) Act in 1989 (United States Senate 1989a) and the Native American Graves and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) in 1990 (United States Senate 1989b). Enacted within just one year of each other, these pieces of congressional legislation focused attention on museums for different reasons. Part of the NMAI legislation called for training and support of tribal museums and cultural activities. When NAGPRA was first passed there was a flurry of misinformation regarding how the law worked, due mainly to a lack of careful reading and instruction on how to implement the Act from both tribes and museums, that resulted in the inaccurate belief that tribes would need museums in order to receive repatriated material. Another activity that focused on tribal historic preservation needs was also occurring at the same time. The National Park Service’s 1990 report to Congress, Keepers of the Treasures (Parker 1990), clearly outlined the status and needs of tribes regarding cultural preservation including the need for tribal museums and cultural centres. Tribal museums have continued to be developed with at least six more becoming operational since 2001 through 2005 (Sadongei 2005). Why would native peoples take a Western concept like a museum and work within its framework? The museum concept was foundational but largely often imposed on tribes by federally funded projects. Others, as we will discuss later, were created out of necessity to accommodate the discovery of archaeological collections. Many native people still find the concept of a museum to be foreign,

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and it is difficult to neutralize the early collecting practices made by anthropologists and archaeologists whose knowledge of native cultural practice was virtually non-existent. The illegal and sometimes coercive techniques made by some collectors, coupled with inappropriate interpretation and display of native materials in museums, have not made the term “museum” an endearing one for many native communities. However, tribal museums have gained respect from their communities due to the ability of tribal museums to shift or transform the Western notion of a museum into one that serves a useful purpose for them. This purpose or objective of the museum varies from tribe to tribe and, in fact, has changed over the years. During the early 1990s, the reasons given as to why a museum should be developed inevitably included the following: for our children, to promote pride in the culture and for economic development. Since then, economic development has been replaced by the desire to express and support tribal sovereignty, and the goal of promoting cultural pride has expanded to tribal museums becoming the nexus for all cultural information related to the tribe. In other words, the tribal museum seeks to become the central, community-controlled repository for all of the information related to a specific tribal culture.

Training Programmes for Tribal Museums The types and amount of training opportunities for tribal museum personnel parallel the history of tribal museum development. The federal government played a role in this area as well. The Smithsonian Institution, through a variety of units, has provided tribal museum training opportunities since the 1970s. Research opportunities were being offered first by the National Museum of Natural History followed by the National Museum of American History. The majority of activity occurred within the Office of Museum Programs (OMP) with the establishment of the Native American Museums Training Program that operated from 1977 through 1989 (Cooper 1998). In coordination with the NMAI, the American Indian Museum Studies Program (AIMS) was situated in the OMP from 1990 through 2008. After this date, the training offered by OMP that targeted tribal museums was centrally directed to the NMAI under their training department. Other training was offered by the American Association for State and Local History in 1996. From 1998 to 2009, the Arizona State Library and the Arizona State Museum at the University of Arizona offered a series of training workshops and conferences that included tribal museums as well as tribal libraries and archives. Funded by the Institute of Museum and Library Services (IMLS), this project continues to offer training opportunities under the auspices of the Association of Tribal Libraries, Museums



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and Archives (ATALM). At approximately the same time from 2006 through 2011, the National Association of Tribal Historic Preservation Officers (NATHPO) offered a tribal museum training programme that included online units related to collections management and leadership training. The training and research opportunities at the Smithsonian Institution including the NMAI also continue but on a limited basis and they are not offered as regularly as they had been in the late 1990s and early 2000s. The types of training requested and provided to tribal museums reflect their current needs and challenges and, in some ways, are similar to the professional development needs of museums in general. These needs include: organizational development; exhibition planning and development; collections management; audience development; and fundraising. The training topics currently being offered, by and large, remain unchanged since the 1970s. However, the manner and process of providing tribal museum training changed in 1990 when the NMAI training initiative (AIMS) was led by a native professional. An ongoing tenet for the AIMS programme was to encourage and challenge tribes to manage and interpret their own culture using traditional tribal methods and standard methods of museum practice when necessary (Erikson, Ward and Wachendorf 2002). No one method was better than the other and each had equal value; it was up to the tribal museum staff to determine what methods would best serve their interest.

Cultural Practice and Mission Some examples of a tribal museum using Western-based constructs in its governance and structure are their use of a mission statement that sets parameters for other aspects of museum operations such as collections policies, programming, and professional development or training. Many tribal museums and cultural centres use their cultural knowledge as a framework to construct policy as defined by their community thus applying cultural practice to their museum’s guiding philosophy. In the tribal museum mission statements that follow, one can see the unique qualities that define the cultural context of the museum and transforms it into a platform for perpetuating indigenous knowledge. Tribal museum mission statements are developed within their cultural contexts. A tribal museum communicates its purpose and role to the community and the general public and indicates how they are different from other cultural institutions and other museums. Mission statements convey the unifying concepts of an institution linking policy and practice while directing decisions and strategies. Staff may define

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what indigenous knowledge is by developing exhibits, programmes, and portals based on the framework the mission statement provides. –– Agua Caliente Cultural Museum (Agua Caliente, California): The Agua Caliente Cultural Museum inspires people to learn about the Agua Caliente Band of Cahuilla Indians and other Native cultures. We keep the spirit alive through exhibitions, collections, research, and educational programs (Agua Caliente Cultural Museum 2015); –– Ah-Tah-Thi-Ki Museum (Hollywood, Florida): The primary purpose of the Ah-Tah-Thi-Ki Museum is to preserve and interpret the culture, language and customs of the Florida Seminoles (quoted in Norwood 2015); –– Alaska Native Heritage Center (Anchorage, Alaska): Sharing, perpetuating and preserving our unique Alaska Native cultures, languages, traditions and values through celebration and education (Alaska Native Heritage Center 2015); –– The Apache Cultural Center and Museum (White Mountain, Arizona): It is the mission of the Apache Culture Center to foster an appreciation for the history and cultural traditions of the White Mountain Apache, within the reservation community and beyond, through exhibits and educational programs (White Mountain Apache Tribe 2015) ; –– Citizen Potawatomi Nation Cultural Heritage Center (Shawnee, Oklahoma): The Citizen Potawatomi Nation Cultural Heritage Center exists to educate tribal members and the greater Native American community, and other visitors about the historical and contemporary aspects of the tribe. The acquisition, preservation, exhibition, and exploration of the diverse materials pertaining to the culture and traditions of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation guide educational programs and exhibits. We maintain, protect and nurture our culture, our spiritual beliefs and our historical values through the celebration of our unique tradition, language and sovereignty. Promoting education is a cornerstone of our mission (Citizen Potawatomi Nation Cultural Heritage Center 2015); –– The Osage Tribal Museum (Pawhuska, Oklahoma): From its inception in 1938, the museum has been dedicated to collecting, preserving, interpreting and celebrating Osage Nation history, culture and traditions (Osage Tribal Museum 2015). Each of the statements listed illustrates the intention of the tribal museum to have an educational role in the public and within the community itself. By developing and adhering to its own mission statement a community can assert its sovereignty and its power to speak with sole authenticity.



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Cultural Practice Application Given the history of tribal museum development, including their exposure to the foundational concept of a museum and the ensuing training and education that has been provided, we can observe from a variety of mission statements that tribal museums have been choosing to make these institutions their own. In doing so, tribal museums reflect a resiliency and, in some instances, resistance to the larger museum status quo. In this section we will discuss more in-depth how cultural practice is reflected using several tribal museums and one language programme.

Ak-Chin Him-Dak Eco-Museum The creation of the Ak-Chin Him-Dak Eco-Museum, located in central Arizona, was the result of the discovery of an archaeological site. Existing cultural-resource management practice at that time required that if the collections were to remain at Ak-Chin then appropriately trained staff and an adequate facility were needed. The community began planning by first considering the discovery of the archaeological site itself. The welfare of the contents of the archaeological site yielded great interest from the community and there was a desire to have the collection remain in Ak-Chin. This concern for the well-being of archaeological objects that were many generations removed from any contemporary Ak-Chin resident is rooted in cultural practice. The Ak-Chin community, like other tribal communities, experiences a time collapse when regarding ancestral connections. The lineal perception of time becomes irrelevant. In other words, unearthing human remains or other objects demands the kind of attention a community would give to a recently deceased person. This understanding of relationship to one’s ancestors is an example of cultural practice and, in this case, honoring the ancestral relationship became central to the development of the museum. Appropriate care as to how the collection would be stored, handled, and managed needed to satisfy not only federal guidelines but community concerns as well. Comments from founding museum director, Charles Carlyle (quoted in Parker 1990, 40), illustrate the underlying responsibility the community had with regard to the collection: Much of the acrimony perpetrated between tribal people and historical societies, anthropologists, legislators, etc., is rooted in the collection, analysis, interpretation, and display of artifacts, objects, and specimens. Much of the negative discussion becomes moot when a community, through ownership, determines the ultimate placement, interpretation, and exhibition of its artifacts. When a community is comfortable with placement, analysis, and interpretation, it wants to share. From sharing, the whole society benefits.

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In order to effect the removal of Ak-Chin artifacts, the federal agencies require of any tribal group that they have not only appropriate storage space, but professional staff to inventory, accession, curate, and exhibit their collections. A wellknown fact of life within Tribal America is that Indian individuals may possess all the cultural knowledge, historical knowledge, administrative and artistic ability to do this, but for socio-economic reasons lack a formal education and thus lack certification. Certification makes it easy for the rest of the world to deny a tribe access and ultimately possession of their artifacts for lack of a “qualified staff” (Parker 1990, 41). Community control and training of staff were key elements identified by the tribe that needed to be satisfied and addressed as they moved forward with the museum. Tribal leadership proceeded carefully and deliberately when planning for the museum and sought out expertise from consultants including Nancy J. Fuller from the OMP at the Smithsonian Institution. Working together with several consultants, the tribal leadership considered the purpose and function of the museum before settling on the eco-museum model. The eco-museum has its origin in France and promotes the concept of a museum without walls – the entire community is included in interpretation and exhibition. Additionally, the eco-museum stresses the past, present, and future and highlights this perspective especially with regard to changes impacting the community and its local environment. The choice of the eco-museum model resonated with the Ak-Chin community and also underscored another expression of cultural practice, that being the concept of collective ownership. For the Ak-Chin community, collective ownership when viewed as cultural practice allowed for the entire community to weigh in on what role the museum would have for themselves as well as the surrounding non-Native population. Even the name of the museum, the Ak-Chin Him-Dak, is an expression of cultural practice using heritage language generally translated to mean “way of life”. This use of heritage language was one of the first examples of a tribal museum choosing to use their own language to describe the purpose of the museum. The original staff for the museum made a commitment to receive special training that would involve individualized curriculum designed to satisfy personal as well as professional goals. Staff, with consultants, and administrators from a local community college developed courses and experiences that focused on archive and museum management. Staff also travelled to visit other tribal museums to learn from their experience. The museum project was new to the community and the staff also had to learn how to work with the variety of people that the project would impact. First and foremost this included the community, who expressed concern about the sensitive nature of the collection and the potential cultural risk



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the handling of the artifacts might cause. Staff conducted door-to-door surveys and other meetings to make sure the opinions of the community were heard on everything from where the building would be situated, what it would look like, what programmes would be offered, and eventually the naming of the museum. Staff also had to interact with local and international consultants, elected tribal officials, tribal elders, and virtually every tribal department to get feedback. They also solicited feedback from federal land managers, other cultural resource management personnel, local museum professionals, and archaeologists. Their jobs became a reflection of the community’s concern and responsibility to the cultural knowledge revealed in the archaeological site that affirmed the community’s physical ties to their environment and sparked a renewed interest for that cultural knowledge. The original staff carried out their responsibility in a culturally appropriate manner of respectful listening and thoughtful engagement – all value traits that are distinct to this particular community and thus another expression of cultural practice. The Ak-Chin Him-Dak Eco-Museum has managed to retain some of the original staff, while others have moved on to lead other tribal cultural programmes, often serving in areas of leadership including tribal council positions. This is one of the Eco-Museum’s greatest successes according to the current director, Elaine Peters. The individuals who started out in the museum who have moved on to other community positions carry with them the devotion to community and culture and are able to infuse those distinctly Ak-Chin values into their work. In addition to a collections storage space and exhibition space, the Eco-Museum included a small archive and classroom. Over the years, a small research library has been carved out and an entirely new building devoted to the archives has been built. The classroom has always been used by the community for a variety of meetings and the museum is scheduled to open a larger, expanded classroom space in the spring of 2015. For the Ak-Chin Indian Community and its museum, cultural practice expressed in respect for ancestors and their spiritual lineage, continued use of tribal language, acknowledgement of collective ownership and the responsibility of that ownership, has been and continues to be its sustaining source of guidance.

Poeh Center The Pueblo of Pojoaque, located approximately twenty minutes outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico, formally approved the Poeh Cultural Center and Museum by tribal council resolution in 1988, with initial support from the Administration for Native Americans. The project consisted of three components: the Poeh Center,

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the Poeh Museum, and Poeh Arts. The planning process was lengthy and necessary due to the vision of the museum and cultural centre to perpetuate and preserve traditional and contemporary art and culture of all six of the Tewa-speaking Pueblos of Northern New Mexico. The early involvement of a number of advisory groups, multi-generational community members and representatives of other pueblos, and other regional interests was part of the strategic process to make the Poeh Center a meaningful and productive part of Pojoaque. Similar to the Ak-Chin Him-Dak Eco-Museum, the Poeh Center expressed collective ownership in its planning process employing the voices of other Pueblo communities to develop a culturally based enterprise that would serve as the platform for the varied and continued expression of traditional knowledge. Pueblo community vision identified several areas they deemed important to feature in the Poeh Cultural Center and Poeh Museum – all examples of cultural practice. These areas included traditional architecture, transmission of artistic vision and technique to younger generations, and Pueblo interpretation of history and culture. The early planners recognized that real sustainability of the Poeh Center would depend upon its role in the perpetuation of indigenous knowledge and cultural traditions. Building on the success of Pojoaque Pueblo in creating culturally rich and sustainable ventures, a resolution was passed to formalize a partnership with the for-profit organization Pojoaque Pueblo Construction Services Corporation. There were multiple goals to this partnership. The first goal was to incorporate traditional adobe construction and siting in the building and design of the centre. The second goal was to train community members in practical building skills that would include Pueblo cultural practice in the technology and application of adobe. In other words, students would learn about the culturally appropriate relationship and spiritual connection to the earthen clay and the proper mindset to use when using it to construct a dwelling. The Poeh Center, which resembles a traditional village with its adjacent buildings and outdoor gathering areas, would ultimately become a training facility to educate members of Pojoaque and surrounding Pueblos in vocational skills such as exhibit fabrication that could be used in the Poeh Museum and in fine arts instruction and technology for pottery, jewelry making, and sculpture that could later be shown and sold in the gallery of Poeh Arts. By creating a place where traditional art can be made, the Poeh Center and Poeh Arts are ensuring the transmission of Pueblo artistic expression. The permanent exhibit in the Poeh Museum tells the story of Pueblo history using sculpture by renowned artist Roxanne Swentzell (Santa Clara Pueblo) and muralist Marcellus Medina (Zia Pueblo). Community input and cultural practice is uniquely expressed by the conscious decision to not use any written labels to



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aid in exhibit interpretation. This technique, highly unusual for museum practice, strengthens the cultural practice of respecting oral tradition. Additionally it indirectly exemplifies the cultural practice of learning through observation as visitors can rely on aural cues, the use of colour, form, and symbols to provide information. The permanent exhibit also uses a water feature throughout the exhibit to convey continuity as well as regard for water, which is a highly valued element for the Pueblo community. Standard museum practice discourages the use of water in exhibits as it contributes to the humidity level that in turn may affect the material of the objects on display. There are also no barriers to the sculptural and mural narrative except for the waterway that meanders through the exhibit. The Poeh Museum chose cultural practice over museum practice in the development of their permanent exhibit – a decision that works best for them. The Poeh Center, which provides oversight of the entire operation, has been recognized by Harvard’s Honoring Nations Program as an outstanding example of community capacity building and tribal government success. Their ability to transform and express cultural practice extends to exhibit development, community planning, cultural transmission, community employment and, hence, community well-being.

Makah Cultural and Research Center The Makah Cultural and Research Center (MCRC) located in Neah Bay, Washington was established to care for and exhibit the contents of an archeological site that was discovered in the 1970s. The Makah village was excavated after winter storm waves exposed the site. The site consisted of several large dwellings that, some 500 years previously, had been covered by the natural catastrophe of a mudslide. Because the houses had been covered in mud, creating a condition known as a wet site, the houses and the contents within had been remarkably preserved. The excavations that followed, conducted by both university archaeologists and tribal members, were historic events not only because of the significance and condition of the pre-contact artifacts but because of the impact the discovery had on the Makah community and its subsequent development of their museum that has served as a model for incorporating cultural practice in their operations. The tribal resolution used to begin planning for the museum referred to the ongoing historical and spiritual importance of the archaeological material to the Makah people as the basis for the establishment of a museum. By acknowledging the continuity of their spirituality and the importance of the ancestral relationship to the people from the village site that was excavated, the Makah community clearly infuse cultural practice into the museum from the very beginning.

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The opportunity to learn from the village houses that were exposed actually helped to verify the wisdom of their ancestors as the tribe has stated in a memorial erected at the site. Museum director Janine Ledford further elaborates (pers. comm., 4 February 2015): The Makah Tribe is remarkable in so many ways. We are THE ocean going tribe, with a long and rich history of managing an extensive marine area and the resources within, we negotiated a unique treaty with the Federal Government even shortly after we lost some of our strongest leaders to epidemics, we were protected from sudden cultural destruction due to our remoteness, AND we have the Ozette collection of artifacts, which represents some of the best preserved examples of pre-contact artifacts in the world. Excavating, then owning and managing such an important archaeological collection is like the icing on the cake. Makahs have always been resourceful, unique and tenacious, and we have evidence to prove it. The Ozette collection helps each generation of Makahs develop a strong sense of identity and has certainly helped our Tribe protect and defend our treaty rights.

The MCRC used cultural practice in a variety of ways as they developed their centre and they continue its application to the expanded function of the MCRC that has transpired over the years. Cultural practice at the MCRC is reflected most notably in their style of governance, exhibition, interpretation, and collections management. The MCRC is governed by a board of directors that also act as a liaison to the tribal government. The board is representative of various families from the community that ensure not only tribal representation but this system also honours the traditional social structure and hierarchy of the Makah people. In the early years of the MCRC, consultants suggested that the board of directors should reflect the various needs of a typical museum board. This meant that outside representatives with expertise in fundraising, research, marketing, etc. should comprise the board (Renker 1991). This proved to be ineffective, as travel to attend meetings became difficult for board members and it became clear to the Makah that the board should be made up representatives from the community. Institutionalizing family representatives into the governing structure reflects their cultural practice. The orientation of the MCRC is based on a traditional long house, not so much in a physical sense but in a metaphorical sense. The centre of family and village life revolved around the large house structures that contained areas for sleeping; cooking; manufacturing of tools, sea mammal hunting, and fishing gear; and multi-generational living. Viewed in this manner, the MCRC then becomes a place where visitors and community can experience the ancestral households that were excavated. Equally evident, however, is the presence and cultural activity that emanates from the MCRC via the staff, changing exhibits, and community events



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that also reflect a familial spirit. In fact, when visitors enter the MCRC they are greeted by song text that states (Erikson, Ward and Wachendorf 2002, 18): Welcome to this house; all of you who have traveled near and far. Welcome to our beach; we tie up your canoe.

Cultural practice helped to determine the decision to make the permanent exhibit a household. Accompanying text written in English and the Makah language further contextualizes the presentation as being uniquely Makah. From a museum practice perspective the reconstruction of the traditional longhouse might be seen as an interpretation technique. From a cultural practice perspective, the longhouse is necessary to convey the spirit of the families that lived there. In 1993, when a new collections storage facility was built, the Makah language became central to their collections management system. The MCRC staff used the move to the new storage facility to shed the inherited standard museum method of cataloguing to organizing the collection using the Makah language and to manage the collection in a way that preserves traditional Makah values. This method focuses on Makah linguistic function and cognition. Even in the storage of materials, the concept of respect for family rights to ownership, a central value for the Makah, are acknowledged since the objects are stored and identified by the excavated longhouses from which they were retrieved. From a standard museum perspective this method would be viewed as an entirely new method of collections management but for the MCRC, they chose to augment museum practice collections management with a method that is appropriate for the MCRC – one that is informed by cultural practice (Mauger and Bowechop 2006). The MCRC now houses the Tribal Historic Preservation Office (THPO) and is responsible for working with a variety of federal agencies to ensure compliance related to cultural resource management, such as land and water use and sacred site protection. According to MCRC director Ledford, the MCRC now is in a position to support tribal sovereignty on a daily basis and sees this as a central function of the museum.

The experience of the MCRC with reflecting cultural practice in their museum exemplifies that tribes can learn to manage and interpret their own culture using traditional cultural practice and standard methods of museum practice when necessary. Ledford provided a summary of the museum’s success (pers. comm., 4 February 2015): The MCRC provides each Makah tribal member the opportunity to learn about their family history, the history of the Makah Tribe, as well as how to incorporate traditional cultural values into their contemporary lives. Some Makah people were fortunate to have knowledge passed to them in a traditional context (from one generation to the next), but some may

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have lost grandparents before they learned all they hoped to learn, and this is where the MCRC serves a crucial role for individuals and families. While interpreting Makah history and culture to interested visitors is important, even more important is sustaining a strong sense of Makah identity.

Myaamia Center One of the most critical expressions of cultural practice is reflected in language. Language provides the basis of cognition – the multi-faceted understanding of one’s worldview and society. Unfortunately, for many native peoples the loss of heritage language is at a critical stage. While cultural practice can still be expressed without heritage language, as we have seen in the discussion of tribal museums, heritage language remains a foundational source of cultural knowledge. Re-awakening that cultural practice resulted in the development of the Myaamia Center, a unique academic partnership between the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma and the Miami University in Oxford, Ohio, located in what was once part of the ancestral homelands of the tribe prior to forced removal. The word, Miyaamia, reflects the original heritage language but it is not uniformly applied to the existing name of the tribe which is called “Miami”. The Center promotes tribal-directed research of language and culture that is used to develop educational materials and models designed to assist in maintaining Myaamia cultural expression. The Center also helps with the retention and recruitment of tribal students. While not a tribal museum, the Myaamia Center shares some of the planning dynamics informed by cultural practice that tribal museums have employed. Over twenty years in the making, the Miami people have achieved what some may call an insurmountable challenge. Based on the dedicated efforts of one individual, Daryl Baldwin, a citizen of the Miami Nation, the Myaamia language is again being spoken by children, youth, and adults – after remaining dormant for over fifty years. Speaking at a national indigenous language conference organized by the American Indian Language Development Institute at the University of Arizona in the summer of 2013, Baldwin described his journey, an ongoing one, to relearn the language using archival documentation. Learning the language without fluent speakers required a commitment to re-awakening values and cultural knowledge that are reflected in the language. Focusing only on his immediate family at first, he and his wife were committed to teaching the language to their children. Soon other tribal members wanted to learn and a slow, consistent movement began. In his presentation, Baldwin stated, “Our languages are not dead; nor are they extinct. They are simply waiting for a time when the community is ready to start breathing life into them again and are willing to accept the



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changes that come from such an effort” (Baldwin 2013). Baldwin’s commitment to re-introduce the language was framed by cultural practice in that the language itself was deemed as a living, animate entity. In other words the language is the cultural value. He also described how the language is not a thing or object but rather an expression of knowledge. Language, then, should not sit in a designated language program where it could become as he stated, “a target ... a place to pull funding from,” but it should be “infused in everything ... it’s our future” (Baldwin 2013). In this way, the potential for the language to lose momentum or funding or a programmatic home cannot occur. Baldwin recalled that he heard someone describe how learning one’s language becomes like the release of ants: “There’s no way to stomp on all the ants because there’s too much out there and it is spread out” (Baldwin 2013). Baldwin’s description of language transforms it into an intangible energy that is everywhere and active. Infusing language and culture into everything may appear daunting but as we have described it is being attempted. It is driven by the compelling nature of tribal cultural practice.

Conclusion In our discussion of cultural practice we have provided examples of its use, application, and regard by native people, especially in the organizational context of tribal museums and language revitalization. By using enduring cultural values and practice as their inspiration and foundation, the tribes that we have discussed, and many more that we did not mention, have changed museums and cultural programmes to reflect intangible qualities. While it may not be explicitly stated, the thread of respect for an overarching existential reason for being is woven through every exhibit and programme. These qualities are also reflected in the manner of how visitors are received, how and when planning occurs, how community members use the museums, what types of activities are implemented, how meetings are opened and held, and what types of training should be used. When using cultural practice, tribal communities are choosing to apply values and knowledge that are fully enacted and realized. Cultural knowledge is important as it is the basis for how tribal communities and individuals view the world. Our hope is that tribes will continue to exercise cultural practice as they find new ways to sustain and pass on their cultural knowledge.

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References Abrams, George H. J. 2002. Tribal Museums in America. [Nashville, TN]: American Association of State and Local History. http://www.atalm.org/sites/default/files/tribal_museums_in_ america.pdf. Accessed on 1 February 2016. Agua Caliente Cultural Museum. 2015. “About us. Mission Statement.” http://www.accmuseum. org/. Accessed on 5 February 2015. Alaska Native Heritage Center. 2015. “Education and Programs.” http://www.alaskanative.net/. Accessed on 5 February 2015. Baldwin, Daryl. 2013. “Ken Hale Memorial Lecture.” Paper presented at American Indian Language Development Institute, Revisiting the State of Indigenous Languages National Conference, Tucson, AZ. 17 June[video]. http://aildi.arizona.edu/2013-conference-videos. Accessed on 25 May 2015. Citizen Potawatomi Nation Cultural Heritage Center. 2015. “CPN Cultural Heritage Center.” http://www.potawatomi.org/cultural-heritage-center. Accessed on 5 February 2015. Cooper, Karen Coody. 1998. Tribal Museum Directory. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution, Center for Museum Studies. Cooper, Karen Coody. 2006. Preface to Living Homes for Cultural Expression, North American Perspectives on Creating Community Museums, edited by Karen Coody Cooper and Nicolasa I. Sandoval, 8–9. Washington, DC; New York: Smithsonian Institution, National Museum of the American Indian. Erikson, Patricia Pierce, Helma Ward and Kirk Wachendorf. 2002. Voices of a Thousand People: The Makah Cultural and Research Center. Lincoln; London: University of Nebraska Press. Mauger, Jeffrey E. and Janine Bowechop. 2006. “Tribal Collections Management at the Makah Cultural and Research Center.” In Living Homes for Cultural Expression, North American Perspectives on Creating Community Museums, edited by Karen Coody Cooper and Nicolasa Sandoval, 56–63. Washington, DC; New York: Smithsonian Institution, National Museum of the American Indian. Norwood, Jill. 2015. “How to Start a Tribal Museum.” http://nmai.si.edu/sites/1/files/pdf/ resources-for-tribal-museums/How-to-start-a-tribal-museum.pdf. Accessed on 24 May 2015. Osage Tribal Museum. 2015. “Welcome.” http://www.osagetribalmuseum.com/. Accessed on 5 February 2015. Parker, Patricia L. 1990. Keepers of the Treasures Protecting Historic Properties and Cultural Traditions on Indian Lands: A Report on Tribal Preservation Funding Needs Submitted to Congress by the National Park Service, United States Department of the Interior. Washington, DC: National Park Service, Interagency Resources Division, Branch of Preservation Planning. https://archive.org/stream/keepersoftreasur00nati/keepersoftreasur00nati_djvu.txt. Accessed on 24 May 2015. Renker, Ann. 1991. “Smithsonian Institution Mission and Governance for Tribal Museums.” Workshop presented at Neah Bay, Washington, 8 April. Sadongei, Alyce. 2005. Tribal Archive, Library and Museum Directory: Preserving our Language, Memory and Lifeways. Tucson: Arizona State Museum. United States Senate. 1989a. National Museum of the American Indian Act. S.R. 101–143:2, September 27. Washington, DC: U. S. Government Printing Office.



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United States Senate. 1989b. Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act. Washington, DC: U. S. Government Printing Office. White Mountain Apache Tribe. 2015. “`Nohwike’ Bagowa’: House of Our Footprints. Apache Cultural Center & Museum.” http://www.wmat.nsn.us/wmaculture.html. Accessed on 5 February 2015.

Jameson C. Brant

14 E  stablishing Aboriginal Presence in the Museum Sector Introduction Indigenous1 peoples are moving into a new era of rapidly evolving perspectives on the protection of historical traditions, contemporary cultural expression, and integrity. This is a period of growth and change. Let’s take a look at the evolution and our present situation within the context of museum efforts in Canada and in the rest of North America. An understanding of the nature of essential challenges will help identify the milestones, open our minds to new visions, and set the framework for growth and greater independence in the museum sector. As Aboriginal2 Training Coordinator for the Canadian Museum of History (CMH),3 I offer thoughts based on experience with mentors, colleagues, and individuals who have participated in the Aboriginal Training Program in Museum Practices (ATPMP). As an indigenous person, I write from the perspective of improving communication, respect, and understanding between our unique cultures and those of developed or industrialized countries. In my capacity at the CMH I have worked with staff and interns from various First Nation, Métis, and Inuit communities from across Canada. The trainees are being mentored and they are also exchanging information with field specialists and technicians. This is a reciprocal arrangement that each year enhances our professional insights. While they are here on site, the interns often discover and are able to add valuable details and stories about materials in the collections. Our evolving perspectives on the field of museology are influenced by the participants, annual experiences, shifting museum priorities, technology, and globalization. A key benefit of the programme is the ongoing relationship we have maintained with many of our interns. Regular updates we receive from alumni 1 The term “indigenous” is used in reference to original peoples of various nations. 2 The term “Aboriginal” is currently used by the Government of Canada to refer to people of First Nation, Métis and Inuit descent. In prior years the terms “Indian”,” Native”, and “First Nation” have been used. The terminology in this manuscript is used interchangeably depending on the era they were in use and the context. The term “Métis” is used in reference to people of mixed Aboriginal and other ancestry. The term “Inuit” is used in reference to the original people of Canada’s Arctic. 3 In December 2013 the Canadian Museum of Civilization was renamed the Canadian Museum of History.



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demonstrate that the programme has had a significant impact on our interns’ careers and communities. This is our legacy. It is also our responsibility. In considering the role and motivation for cultural preservation and presentation, I’d like to begin by looking at existing conditions; the history leading to this position; and then move into messages indigenous people would like to communicate to other cultures and greater audiences. Examples of mainstream museum work involving indigenous peoples, contentious issues, barriers, gaps, and selected successes will help us better consider actions based on present and anticipated conditions. Local understandings of survival, migration, linguistic and societal development, and cultural exchange all demonstrate the rich contribution indigenous peoples have to offer museums. Such experiences and insights have contributed to the changing museum field, preservation work, special considerations and restrictions, training, infrastructure, and expression. It is inspiring to review, network, and exchange insights on how these approaches have manifested in practice.

Existing Perspectives The way indigenous people transmit accumulated knowledge to descendants differs between cultures and varies greatly from those of more formally recognized developed nations. As indigenous people make the transition from oral communication to fully participating literate societies, traditional knowledge is being communicated in new ways to new audiences. The role museums play in these efforts is gaining momentum in North America. The road to engagement, however, has not been a smooth one. Nor has it been without contention or sacrifice. It’s important to know the past in order to consider and explore future potential. Over the past one hundred and fifty years, members of our indigenous communities passively participated in museum activities in Canada. By passively, I mean cases when indigenous peoples worked with researchers who collected things they made, or were interviewed, photographed, or recorded. Only within the past fifty years, though, are indigenous people actively adopting and applying formal museum practices. Our reasons for now doing so may be to preserve and continue our own traditions or to communicate messages to wider audiences. The ways and degrees to which we adopt such practices of engagement with researchers and museum staff vary greatly. Each tribe and nation has its own conditions and approaches to passing on knowledge. While respecting that hered-

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itary approaches have helped maintain unique and extended tribal identities, present concern over indigenous culture and language attrition is positioning the preservation of traditional knowledge at the forefront. Related efforts often require consultation of heritage collections so this is, in turn, creating a broader interest in new ways to preserve and retrieve archival information. Even though their motivations and methods have changed over time, museums are helping us regain and retain valuable information through building and housing recordings of traditional knowledge or artifact collections. Our people are learning to consult historic photographs, community records, sound recordings, videos, books, digital information, and material culture held by museums. As a result, many communities are now formalizing and preserving their own collections. At the same time, there is a rising interest in adopting museum practices as a means to trace identity and communicate contemporary Aboriginal expression to wider audiences. This is an exciting time for artists and their interest in curatorial work is growing. Young people are learning the value of museum-, library-, and archive-related roles. All this is expanding our community capacity and potential. In our desire to create a better understanding for future generations our call for greater involvement in museum efforts is not a hard sell.

The Allure and Establishing Common Interests Museums have become widely respected authorities that play a significant role transmitting public knowledge. This was achieved through years of research into the conscious acquisition, interpretation, and exhibition of material culture. As with traditional indigenous teachings, museums offer an experiential, multidimensional communicative experience that stimulates memory and recall. Like the numerous methods of communicating during pre-contact times in North America, the retention of information is based on consuming an experience using multiple senses as opposed to reading about it. The recipient is learning through immersion. This is effective for overcoming language barriers or hosting non-literate visitors – those with differing learning styles or methods of communicating. From this perspective, the exhibition and communication aspects of museum work are both effective and appealing to indigenous audiences. Indigenous people are at many different stages in developing understandings about the nature of museum work and exploring their own potential for pursuing it. Individual and community circumstances all have an effect on the situation, starting from grasping the very notion of what a museum is. We are all still



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learning about initial research motives; the how and why behind the acquisition of specific types of collections; approaches to access major collections; processes needed to develop and care for our own materials; rationale for exhibition; and, ultimately, the potential and impact of developing voice in the messaging. Aside from earlier trade and gift-giving among other nations and with Europeans, awareness about museum work among Aboriginal people in Canada started over a century ago. Anthropologists began collecting materials and stories about Indians for research and posterity in the interest of documenting disappearing cultures. In those early relations, there was often a degree of mutual cooperation; sensitive issues arose along the way. Research approaches changed and a number of other factors came into play that introduced new effects and challenges. The position of indigenous peoples has been shifting from a position of being the studied subject matter of research and exhibitions to actual participation in the planning and implementation over the past few decades. Those two perspectives are natural opposites. When materials and stories originate from another culture the messaging either requires communication from the originating culture or is subject to interpretation. Many Aboriginal people feel they have been left out of having a voice in the communication of their history and culture to the public through museum presentations. We are now both challenging and enhancing earlier interpretations. This is especially true in cases where documentation about materials made by ancestors is lacking. A lot of traditional stories have been passed down and descendants of the makers of the materials still have the capacity to add original voice. Others can also add valuable, contemporary insight. For centuries we have heard other peoples’ stories about who we are. For five decades, we’ve heard our own people saying it’s time to tell our own stories. This is where a lot of the sensitivity to indigenous presence in museum exhibits originated. Most of the very old surviving materials from indigenous nations are held in national public museums, libraries, and archival collections. I have read about and witnessed how much of a contention this is for many people. We can return to the arguments about how the material culture got there, or even if they should be there, but the thing that intrigues me more is witnessing when our people realize the importance of the fact that they are still there. Still, indigenous peoples have a lot to be grateful for. Museums hold much information that would have otherwise been lost. I’ve watched people come through the ATPMP first wanting to repatriate everything back to their communities and then gradually realizing that their material culture is being well taken care of, made accessible, and securely protected in a museum. I’ve also seen seniors who were removed from their communities and families during the residential school era visit the collections. The emotion, the recollections, and the

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return to words in the languages are so moving. Inhibitions vanish and a sense of cooperation sets in. Thus, museums not only provide the expertise for caretaking, they also provide the social space for people to meet and experience their cultural material. These are healing times when a respect for the value of what museums, libraries, and archives are takes hold. There is progress in the greater interest of learning how to create these types of facilities and implement similar locally-specific services for and in our own communities. In Canada, the number of community cultural centres, museums, libraries, and archives is slowly but gradually increasing. At the same time, a small number of Aboriginal people are being trained in museum-related professions who will serve as the bridges between their communities of origin and the formal world of professional practice. The interest in cultural heritage preservation is spreading quickly, and some Canadian Indigenous people are joining the Association of Tribal Archives, Libraries and Museums, an international movement based in the United States, to share experiences and expertise. In museum work and contemporary efforts to preserve our cultures, many are adapting tools and sharing methods to ensure the transmission of traditional knowledge. Later on, I will discuss how similar experiences rooted in colonialism are now shared by people from indigenous nations throughout North America and around the globe.

The Canadian Experience In 1857, an Act to Encourage the Gradual Civilization of Indian Tribes in this Province, and to Amend the Laws Relating to Indians (Province of Canada 1857), later referred to as the Gradual Civilization Act, was implemented to remove the distinct status of Indians and thus encourage them to become British subjects. Enfranchisement was the term used when an Indian relinquished this status through means such as agreeing to acquire a baptismal name, become educated, industrious, debt-free, and to speak English or French. In return, lands off reserve were to be allotted and annuities were to be paid. In subsequent decades the policy was implemented and the legal assumption was that Indians would assimilate. Anthropologists working at museums began to collect material culture and stories and archaeologists collected and studied past material traces. They were gradually assuming authority over physical care and documented knowledge about the associated materials. In many ways, these collections have become time capsules. Given the societal position



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of Indians during that era, many were unaware of what a museum was and that those collections existed. A century after this happened, intrigued by ribbon work on a dress from Six Nations, I read archival correspondence associated with materials collected in my mother’s community and similar records from neighbouring nations in 1911–1914. At the time, it was believed that our cultures would disappear. Some, but not all, materials collected were selected by our traditional community leaders; others were made for and willingly sold to the museum with the understanding this would help the makers’ descendants learn about who their ancestors were. Despite earlier political intentions, we still exist, retain a separate identity, and are fully capable of telling our own stories. The materials that were collected also still exist. Museums also added their interpretative information about the materials and they were studied by museum staff and academic researchers who produced a variety of research outputs such as papers, conference proceedings, and even, theses and dissertations. We are finding out now that so much more could have been added to the information about our cultural objects and that we can still do this. In the communities much of the affiliated traditional knowledge has been passed on. If we are looking for the true meaning of indigenous material culture anywhere in the world the answers originate in the traditional knowledge that, subject to varying degrees of attrition and regeneration, remains. Issues between Aboriginal peoples and museums can all be traced back to the method of communicating how that knowledge has been transferred. This is where the tides of understanding are beginning to turn in the museum world. Indigenous peoples are beginning to consult museums and museums are working to include indigenous peoples in the care and knowledge of collections that pertain to them. As cultural repositories, many museums hold valuable information that demonstrate: indigenous views on human life as part of an environment; territory; older dialects of our languages; kinship and hereditary leadership; trade; sense of community; oral or traditional knowledge; and experience. This knowledge was very much parallel to values or views held by dominant cultures who introduced placement of humans at the centre of environment. As a result, most people are impacted by the Western or non-indigenous worldview, see in the sense of ownership and property; collective “official” languages; elected or hierarchical political structures; systems of banknotes, later money; competitive gain through formal education; and written laws. Isolating these approaches allows us to consider the origin of some of the misunderstandings and affirm that the very concept of what a museum is and does is relatively new to indigenous peoples.

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In museum work, the crossing of these parallel approaches has at times led to contentions over the holding and care of sacred objects, negotiation over repatriation, and access to information or materials. These concerns are increasingly discussed in media and academic circles. While initiatives about resolutions have been promoted and developed in the past few decades. One of the primary concerns for indigenous peoples remains the desire for self-representation. Even though there have been significant attempts to respect, improve, and promote understanding of one another’s perspective. More often than not, in earlier encounters, the inclination was for museum staff to oppose other perspectives. That opposition has both created friction and fostered progress. All of these examples have in some way contributed to the contemporary state of museum involvement and activity among indigenous peoples. This is the impetus we need for moving forward.

Roles, Motivations and Milestones As Aboriginal people in Canada strive to establish the groundwork for growth and independence in museum work, it is important to point out significant events, documents, and activities that have contributed to present conditions. In 2006, the Canadian Museum of Civilization Corporation released a publication to commemorate its 150th anniversary (Vodden and Dyck 2006). I have extracted facts relevant to Aboriginal involvement in museum work from this publication. I would like to be clear that this is only a part of the museum’s greater mandate. Please consult the original publication to learn about the more comprehensive story. Canada’s investment in museum work began in the mid 1800s when geological exhibitions developed in Montreal garnered international attention, winning competitions in both London and Paris. Canada was quickly seen as a leader in the museum world. A Geological Museum was established and one of the first exhibitions included stone implements, pipes, and pottery fragments made by Indians from what is now Quebec and Ontario. By the early 1880s, a commitment was made to collect specimens for a museum of archives, ethnology, archaeology, and natural history. Anthropological studies were later included. A small team of anthropology researchers set out to complete a comprehensive inventory and document materials about the Indians from across Canada. They later took significant expeditions to conduct anthropological and archaeological fieldwork. Using technologies like photography, sound recording,



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and film, they recorded, collected, and documented. External research activities were almost completely suspended during the Great Depression and the Second World War, allowing more time to write about and process the information on materials that had been collected over the years. That was an era of active scientific investigation that led to educational outreach efforts for the museum. The results were local lectures and loans of collections and exhibitions to other museums. Materials produced by Indians began to inspire unique Canadian products and souvenirs. The growing interest eventually led to the publication of Diamond Jenness’s classic 1932 book, Indians of Canada. Due to international activities and economic concerns, this book was the result of the only complete ethnographic survey of Canada’s Aboriginal peoples until the 1970s. By the 1940s there were international concerns over potential loss of significant heritage. World researchers began to communicate about these interests, later committing to mutual protection of global scientific research by forming the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) in 1947. Chapter four of the resolutions adopted and reported the following year (UNESCO 1948) pertain to cultural interchange. In 1948, UNESCO held the First Interim Conference of the International Council on Museums (ICOM) in Mexico City. There, Canadian Marius Barbeau, who worked at the National Museum of Canada from 1911–1949, presented a significant submission. In short, his proposal “... To establish international archives of the voice, including native songs, dance and ritual melodies, linguistic and phonetic, for which there has been a need for many years by research students and artists” was ratified as Resolution No. 7 (ICOM 1947). Barbeau’s research, professional networking, and work with Aboriginal peoples and cultures during significant portions of his career, had a lasting impact on the preservation of indigenous and folkloric cultures worldwide. In Canada, this led to a strong surge in ethnological research. Recordings and materials he and colleagues amassed are still consulted regularly at the Canadian Museum of History by academics, students, Aboriginal community members, and those researching for language revitalization projects. The Canadian Museums Association (CMA) was established in Quebec City also in 1948. They set out “... To promote the work and welfare of Canadian museums by discussion of problems and keeping one another informed of methods, progress and aims” (Vodden and Dyck 2006, 54). Following that, between 1956 and 1958 library, archives, and arts priorities were restructured at the National Museum of Canada. A new Natural History Branch was developed with a section on human history in 1958. That section focused on ethnology, archaeology, physical anthropology, and folklore. Concern

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over widespread hydroelectric development and military activity drew attention to the need for an emphasis on archaeological work to document the regions.

External Contributing Factors Outside the museum context, a few other dynamic shifts pertaining to Aboriginal peoples in Canada were taking place in the years following 1948. The first was their general response to government policy. The 1948 UNESCO First Interim Conference of the International Council on Museums (ICOM) sparked new age of awareness and self-articulation. This was all taking shape at the same time the country was preparing for a massive centennial celebration of Confederation. Expo ’67 in Montreal took on a multicultural approach and one of the major attractions was the Indian Pavilion. It was the first time Aboriginal people from Canada had a curatorial role in an attraction on such a grand scale. Present-day members of the Aboriginal Curatorial Collective, an organization of emerging and established Aboriginal curators and art professionals in Canada, attribute planning and implementation of the Indian Pavilion to their earliest curatorial mentors. Indians who worked on the exhibition, the artists, and works produced for it have become educational icons for Aboriginal people with an interest in pursuing curatorial work. The Canadian Broadcasting System digital archives (website content as of 21 May 2015) describe the Indian Pavilion as having a totem pole at the entry and sections that drew attention to environment, arrival and early encounters with Europeans, treaties, land and war, government, populations on reserves and employment, societal differences, and the ignoring of Indian cultures. The external entrance was built in the shape of a stylized tipi and the building was situated next to the United Nations Pavilion. Messages of Indian responses to British colonial efforts in Canada contained in the exhibition sparked controversy at the time and an academic debate that has continued well into the new millennium. This was a new, delineated era of artistic expression that evolved into the genre known as contemporary Aboriginal art. Shortly thereafter, the Professional Native Indian Artists Incorporation, now more widely referred to as the Indian Group of Seven, formed. Anniversaries have the power to create a new mindset. After 1967, Aboriginal politicians were beginning to openly articulate their concerns over a century of policy impacting their daily lives. Wider audiences were intrigued by the vivid colors and unique artforms produced by Aboriginal artists. Inuit arts, primarily prints, sculptures and tapestries were making their way South for exhibition in



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prominent galleries. Aboriginal people were regaining self-confidence and the public was being exposed to much more direct expression from them. Recognizing the significance of this movement, the Department of Indian and Northern Development (DIAND) began to formally acquire an Indian and Inuit art collection. Still in operation after fifty years, the Aboriginal Art Centre continues to acquire new works by First Nations, Inuit, and Métis artists. Some of the original art they collected were from indigenous artists who are now considered world icons in indigenous arts circles. The next movement had to do with approaches the federal government was taking to both educate and convert Indian children to Christianity. These British colonial efforts had come in waves beginning in the early 17th century and took on the forms of Indian day schools, mission schools, and residential boarding schools. Their attempts to prepare the children for a domestic, Christian life were generally, but not fully, phasing out by the 1960s (Kirkness 1999, 3). The systematic relevance to museum interests here is the resulting loss of Aboriginal culture and language for generations of children. By the early 1970s, policies pertaining to Indian peoples in Canada were being collectively responded to by groups such as the National Indian Brotherhood (NIB), now called the Assembly of First Nations (AFN). On matters of education, their concerns were articulated in a movement entitled Indian Control of Indian Education. In her retrospective on Aboriginal education in Canada, Verna Kirkness, a Cree leader and educational spokesperson, retrieved a quotation from one of her papers written at the time (Kirkness 1999, 8–9). We want our children to learn a Canadian history which attaches honour to our customs, values, accomplishments and contributions of the country’s original inhabitants and first citizens, the Indians of Canada ... and, in the process learn to respect the values and cultures of others.

Indian Control of Indian Education naturally included the need for inclusion of original languages, storytelling, and local traditions such as hunting, trapping, fishing, farming, child-rearing, ceremonies, and spirituality. People were starting to take a closer look at identity, seeking resources to educate and to reconnect with culture. This led to later efforts to standardize Aboriginal languages and orthographies to revitalize and increase the number of living speakers. The Government of Canada’s website on Canadian Multiculturalism illustrates the national context in the early 1970s (Government of Canada 2015): In 1971, Canada was the first country in the world to adopt multiculturalism as an official policy. By so doing, Canada affirmed the value and dignity of all Canadian citizens regardless of their racial or ethnic origins, their language, or their religious affiliation. The 1971

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Multiculturalism Policy of Canada also confirmed the rights of Aboriginal peoples and the status of Canada’s two official languages.

Also in 1971, the bulk of the Indian Control of Indian Education responsibility was taken up by the First Nations Confederacy of Cultural Education Centres (FNCCEC). Since that time the initiative has been funded by the DIAND. The majority of FNCCEC’s work continues to endorse the original Indian Control of Indian Education objectives with a strong focus on language. A lot of their activities are museum related but they continue to struggle for adequate financial resources (McDonald 2013). On the global scale, in 1972 the President of the NIB set out to work with its general assembly to organize an international conference on indigenous peoples. Networking with representatives from eight different countries, the group known as the World Council on Indigenous Peoples (WCIP) attained non-governmental status at the United Nations. One of the five common concerns indigenous people from those countries shared was the need for retention of cultural identity. The group dissolved in 1996. The accumulated archives were transferred to Library and Archives Canada in 2002 and are available for public consultation.4 In the museum sector, the 1970s and early 1980s were a period when greater Canadian priorities reflected the focus on multiculturalism, archaeological fieldwork, and ethnological responses to repatriation. At the same time though, the Government of Canada had released its Official statement on Indian Policy known as The White Paper, proposing to abolish the Indian Act and any unique legal status of Indians in Canada. It was an exciting time for native people and many quickly set out to educate themselves in all sorts of areas, gaining confidence to take their concerns to the public. The Red Power movement that had started in the United States took hold in Canada. This was a period of long walks, protest, political action, and articulation. Writers were publishing, artists were gaining exposure, and many people were taking pride in culture. In the North, the Inuit Broadcasting Corporation (IBC) was set up as a way for communities to network and share information across a massive land base. According to their website, local people were trained in aspects of television production to ensure that Inuit values were promoted. Federal funding to ensure IBC materials are properly archived was announced on 20 January 2015. 4 http://collectionscanada.gc.ca/ourl/res.php?url_ver=Z39.88-2004&url_tim=2016-0316T12%3A36%3A58Z&url_ctx_fmt=info%3Aofi%2Ffmt%3Akev%3Amtx%3Actx&rft_ dat=192716&rfr_id=info%3Asid%2Fcollectionscanada.gc.ca%3Apam&lang=eng. Accessed on 16 March 2016.



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In the South, among the strongest museum-related repercussions were reactions to The Spirit Sings: Artistic Traditions of Canada’s First People. This international-scale exhibition was planned to coincide with Calgary Winter Olympic Games in 1988. Voicing their concern over lack of First Nation participation in the planning and sponsorship for the exhibition, the Lubicon Lake First Nation boycotted the exhibition and enlisted the help of the AFN. The AFN and the CMA took the lead in responding to these concerns by co-sponsoring a national conference in 1988 and co-organizing a national Task Force on Museums and First Peoples that was active for three years. The conference took place in Ottawa and there were consultations from across the country. The AFN and the CMA released their findings in a report entitled Turning the Page: Forging New Partnerships between Museums and First Peoples in 1992. The major issues identified were increased involvement of Aboriginal peoples in the interpretation of their culture and history by cultural institutions; improved access to museum collections by Aboriginal peoples; and repatriation of artifacts and human remains (Task Force on Museums and First Peoples 1994). By 1991, a Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples (RCAP) had been appointed in Canada to help restore the relationship between Canada and its original inhabitants. This resulted in a thorough, five-year investigation taking into consideration of all facets of life through the gathering of testimonials. The findings were released in a hefty five-volume publication, the first of which was entitled, Looking Forward, Looking Back (Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples 1996b). The report contains specific content on the effect historical Canadian policy has had on Aboriginal traditional culture. For example, it has sections with titles such as “Attacks on Traditional Culture”; “Relocation of Aboriginal Communities”; “Effects of Relocation”; and “Relationship to the Land, Environment and Culture”. It includes a section on how “culture stress” has led to societal breakdown, and offers reflections on the anti-dancing and anti-potlaching that took place in the between 1918 and 1933. The report does end on a positive note and proposes a twenty year plan to help rectify some of the issues. Some of the recommendations include developing an electronic clearinghouse, new educational and linguistic recovery; directions and special work on designation of sacred sites; human remains; repatriation; and “Prevention of appropriation (theft) of songs, stories, and other intellectual property by non-Aboriginal people” (Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples 1996a, 125). The 20-year proposed period for implementation of recommendations, which include detailed projected costs (Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples 1997) will end in 2016.

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Internal Successes While the RCAP investigation was happening, the CMC responded to the findings of the Task Force Report on Museums and First Peoples in a number of ways. The ATPMP was implemented the following year. New collaborations formed between curators and Aboriginal contacts in and from the communities and they began to work together on projects, exhibitions, and research for publications. They also commissioned Aboriginal artists and created curatorial positions for contemporary Aboriginal and Inuit art. The Task Force Report concerns eventually led to the development of a Human Remains Policy in 1991, the Sacred Materials Project in 1993, and a Repatriation Policy in 2001 (Laforet 2013, 15). The Sacred Materials Project, sometimes referred to as the Special Care of Collections Program, was implemented to ensure that the Museum works with traditional people and ceremonialists to properly care for sacred materials. A designated area was later set up in one of the collections rooms to store materials identified by traditional ceremonialists as sacred. All of these initiatives continue as part of daily work at the Canadian Museum of History. The Museum took a cutting edge approach to the 1992 quincentenary celebrations marking the 500th year since Columbus’s arrival to the Americas by offering a major Aboriginal contemporary art exhibition entitled “Indigena: Contemporary Native Perspectives in Canadian Art”. The exhibition toured to venues throughout Canada and the United states for two years and was accompanied by a publication of the same name (McMaster 1992). Throughout the 1990s and after 2000, the CMC produced significant exhibitions such as the Grand Hall, the First Peoples’ Hall, temporary and travelling exhibitions, and a number of publications in collaboration with First Nations, Métis, and Inuit from across the country. The museum itself was relocated into the spectacular new building designed by Douglas Cardinal, an architect of Métis and Blackfoot ancestry. Other significant initiatives since that time have taken hold in Canada. The Aboriginal Peoples’ Television Network was founded in 1992. The Inuit Heritage Trust, mandated by the Nunavut Land Claims Agreement, was signed in 1993 and is considered the largest Aboriginal land claim settlement in Canadian history.5 Many of the provincial museums amassing significant collections of Aboriginal materials developed exhibitions working in collaboration with community contacts.

5 http://www.ihti.ca/eng/home-english.html. Accessed on 16 March 2016.



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Since that time several language programmes have popped up across the country. In many First Nations and Inuit communities new generations of children are experiencing at least a part of their early formative years exposed to or immersed in the language. There is a marked increase in exposure to culture in schools and urban centres.

Training, Education and Collaboration Museum-focused training initiatives developed specifically for Aboriginal people in Canada include the University of British Columbia’s Museum of Anthropology, which has offered a Native Youth Program to train students to present and host public tours since 1979 (Rowan 2013). The ATPMP at the Canadian Museum of History has offered practical experience for First Nations, Métis, and Inuit who wish to broaden skills in various aspects of museum work since 1993. Provincial and territorial post-secondary programmes have expanded their existing museum-related certification courses to work with Aboriginal people and include Aboriginal content. These include, but are not limited to: 1. The Museum Management and Curatorship Program at Fleming College in Peterborough, Ontario which has worked directly with First Nations communities and recently developed an Aboriginal Emphasis Initiative (Fleming College 2015); 2. Since 1991, La Boîte Rouge vif, Université du Québec à Chicoutimi which has been working directly with First Nation and Inuit communities to stimulate creativity and Aboriginal design offering students experience in research, broadcasting and design services;6 3. Yukon College which offers a one-year full-time certificate in Heritage and Culture (Yukon College 2015);7 4. The University of Victoria which offers undergraduate programmes in Heritage, Cultural and Museum Studies. Courses at the undergraduate and graduate levels have Aboriginal content and they recently added an Indigenous Language and Culture component for certification in Aboriginal Language Revitalization.8

6 http://www.uqac.ca/design/, accessed on 1 February 2016. 7 https://www.yukoncollege.yk.ca/downloads/Indigenous_Self-Determination.pdf, accessed on 1 February 2016. 8 https://www.uvcs.uvic.ca/cultural/, accessed on 1 February 2016.

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In terms of staffing, skill-building and practical applications, these are all very important programmes for community museums and cultural centres to know about as well as prospective students. Many Aboriginal communities are unaware that the Canadian Conservation Institute (CCI) offers technical and professional museum assistance on location and that they can apply to attend workshops on a number of subjects to accommodate their unique needs. This programme has operated for many years and the CCI has worked extensively with Aboriginal material culture (Canadian Conservation Institute 2015). In 2007, the CCI hosted a major five-day international conservation symposium entitled “Preserving Aboriginal Heritage: Technical and Traditional Approaches”. This was an exciting partnership between conservators and Aboriginal people working in the museum field. Participants from a number of countries with varying ages and levels of experience shared traditional and new knowledge about perspectives on the care of both material and intangible culture. One of the highlights was workshops to learn traditional arts and crafts practices through experience. Conclusions were drawn and the CCI committed to concrete goals such as developing a policy to consult with Aboriginal and Inuit elders when caring for heritage collections, creating Aboriginal internships, and developing resources for use by Aboriginal clients. They produced a publication of all of the papers delivered following the conference (Dignard 2008). There are two major active electronic networks pertaining to Aboriginal culture in Canada today. Both are working to create online access to collections specific to a particular region of the continent. The first is the Reciprocal Research Network,9 which focuses on the holdings of major museums pertaining to the Northwest coast. This began as a collaboration between three First Nations (and later others) and the University of British Columbia’s Museum of Anthropology (Reciprocal Research Network 2015). The second is the Great Lakes Research Alliance for the Study of Aboriginal Arts and Cultures.10 Currently based at Carleton University, this alliance is developing a knowledge-sharing system for digital access to collections pertaining to the Great Lakes region (Great Lakes Alliance for the Study of Aboriginal Arts and Cultures 2015). Both have developed extensive partnerships with museum curators and are engaging Aboriginal museum scholars, educators, linguists, contacts in community cultural facilities, language speakers, and local community members. 9 https://www.rrncommunity.org/, accessed on 1 February 2016. 10 https://grasac.org/gks/gks_about.php, accessed on 1 February 2016.



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In addition to these, the Virtual Museum of Canada has produced a number of exhibitions working in collaboration with Aboriginal peoples (Virtual Museum of Canada 2015).11 Within the past thirty years a number of Aboriginal museums have been built and these are changing the Aboriginal heritage landscape. In terms of infrastructure these include the Squamish Lil’wat Cultural Centre in Whistler, BC;12 the Nisga’a Museum,13 and le Musée amérindien de Mashteuiatsh,14 to name a few. Some of these facilities have developed successful activities and garnered the attention of international audiences. These include the Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre in Dawson City, Yukon;15 the Woodland Cultural Centre in Brantford, Ontario;16 the Haida Heritage Centre at Ḵay Llnagaay in Queen Charlotte, BC;17 and, more recently, the Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute in Oujé-Bougoumou, Québec.18 While this is not a full and comprehensive inventory it is safe to say that positive change is occurring in terms of Aboriginal heritage preservation through development in the museum field. Indigenous nations are becoming aware of the skills and resources required for gaining a strong equilibrium for future transmission of knowledge and cultural communication. In all of these cases the initiative starts from within. Communities are learning, sometimes painfully, how to come together on these initiatives. Electronic networking has helped tremendously in this process. As mentioned early on, there are so many complex factors that contribute to the differences not only in renditions but in the resulting types of services these facilities offer. Issues like sustainable funding, especially for those in remote locations, require constant monitoring. While technology is offering solutions in the form of, for example, virtual museums these will not replace the experiential learning from activities surrounding the collections.

11 http://www.virtualmuseum.ca/home/, accessed on 1 February 2016. 12 http://slcc.ca/, accessed on 1 February 2016. 13 http://nisgaamuseum.ca/, accessed on 1 February 2016. 14 http://www.museeilnu.ca/musee-amerindien-de-mashteuiatsh/presentation, accessed on 1 February 2016. 15 http://trondekheritage.com/danoja-zho/, accessed on 1 February 2016. 16 http://www.woodland-centre.on.ca/, accessed on 1 February 2016. 17 http://haidaheritagecentre.com/, accessed on 1 February 2016. 18 http://www.creeculturalinstitute.ca/en, accessed on 1 February 2016.

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The Global Context We are not alone. Similar experiences rooted in colonialism are now shared by people from indigenous nations throughout North America and around the globe. In a recent visit with Māori representatives in Canada to install an exhibition, the interns and I were treated to a tour with then Curator of the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa, Rhonda Paku. In tracing the Māori experience we all observed a mirror-like image of what had happened in Canada especially those of us who lived through the cultural and political movements that started in the 1960s. Indigenous people from many countries have come together on common heritage related concerns and issues. Shared perspectives have led to involvement in entities such as the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) on various aspects of traditional practices and knowledge (WIPO 2015). Their concerns are collectively discussed and postulated to align with the UNESCO’s United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues.19 Their work has led to the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) and the progress is updated on their website.20 The declaration includes sections on, among other things, the equality of indigenous rights to their own cultures, spiritual traditions, histories, and philosophies. It includes special articles on cultural and linguistic diversity. While Canada endorsed the UNDRIP in 2010, due to technical language on other aspects, an impasse remains in fully agreeing to the UN World Conference on Indigenous Peoples Outcome Document (Government of Canada 2014).

A Greater Sense of Aboriginal Presence in the Museum Sector On matters of cultural preservation and presentation, Aboriginal people in Canada continue to develop the skills and resources needed to effect positive change. Examining the situation, considering chronology, context, internal and external influences, experiences and examples, there is progress. A lot of the suc-

19 https://www.un.org/development/desa/indigenouspeoples/about-us/permanent-forum-onindigenous-issues.html, accessed on 1 February 2016. 20 http://www.unesco.org/new/en/indigenous-peoples/related-info/undrip/, accessed on 1 February 2016.



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cesses have been achieved through collaborations and by learning and working together to help sustain and renew the resources we share. In discussing the subject matter of this paper with Dr Leslie Tepper, Curator of Western Ethnology at Canadian Museum of History on 20 May 2015, I thought she summed things up nicely: Two main things we need to take away from all this experience are to make the effort to work together and to pay close attention to the ethics.

References Canadian Conservation Institute. 2015. “Training.” http://www.cci-icc.gc.ca/training-formation/ list-liste/index-eng.aspx. Accessed on 1 February 2016. Dignard, Carole. Preserving Aboriginal Heritage, Technical and Traditional Approaches. Ottawa: Canadian Conservation Institute, 2008. Fleming College. 2015. “Indigenous Perspectives Designation (IPD).” http://flemingcollege.ca/ programs/indigenous-perspectives-designation. Accessed on 1 February 2016. Government of Canada. 2014. “Canada’s Statement on the World Conference on Indigenous Peoples Outcome Document.” http://www.canadainternational.gc.ca/prmny-mponu/ canada_un-canada_onu/statements-declarations/other-autres/2014-09-22_wcipd-padd. aspx?lang=eng. Government of Canada. 2015. “Canadian Multiculturalism: An Inclusive Citizenship.” http:// www.cic.gc.ca/english/multiculturalism/citizenship.asp. Accessed on 1 February 2016. ICOM. 1947. First Interim Conference of ICOM. Mexico City: International Committee on Museums. Jenness, Diamond. 1932. The Indians of Canada. Ottawa: Department of Mines, National Museum of Canada. Kirkness, Verna J. 1999. “Aboriginal Education in Canada: A Retrospective and a Prospective.” Journal of American Indian Education 39(1): 14–30. Laforet, Andrea. 2013.“The Canadian Museum of Civilization’s Collection of First Peoples Artifacts and Art.” In First Peoples of Canada, by Jean-Luc and Nicholette Prince Pilon, 15–20. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. McDonald, Rose-Alma J. 2012. The Role of Cultural Education Centres in First Nations Education. Ottawa: First Nations Confederacy of Cultural Education Centres. http://fnccec.ca/ wp-content/uploads/2013/06/The-Role-of-Cultural-Education-Centres-in-First-NationsEducation.pdf. Accessed on 1 February 2016. McMaster, Gerald and Lee-Ann Martin. 1992. Indigena: Contemporary Native Perspectives. Hull: Douglas & McIntyre. Province of Canada. 1857. An Act to Encourage the Gradual Civilization of the Indian Tribes in this Province, and to Amend the Laws Respecting Indians. Available at http://caid.ca/ GraCivAct1857.pdf. Accessed on 1 February 2016. Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples. 1996a. People to People, Nation to Nation: Highlights of the Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples. Ottawa: Ministry of Supply and Services Canada.

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Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples. 1996b. Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples. Ottawa: The Commission. Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples. 1997. Summary of the Final Report of The Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples. Ottawa: The Institute on Governance. Rowan, Madeline Bronsdon. 2013. Indigenous Teenage Interpreters in Museums and Public Education. Shawnigan Lake: Diamond River Books. Task Force on Museums and First Peoples. 1994. Turning the Page: Forging New Partnerships Between Museums and First Peoples. Ottawa: Task Force on Museums and First Peoples, 1994. UNESCO. 1948. Resolutions Adopted by the General Conference During its Second Session. Paris: UNESCO. Vodden, Christy and Ian Dyck. 2006. A World Inside: A 150-Year History of the Canadian Museum of Civilization. Gatineau: Canadian Museum of Civilization Corporation. World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO). 2015. “Indigenous Peoples and Local Communities Portal.” http://www.wipo.int/tk/en/indigenous/. Accessed on 1 February 2016.

Emily Grafton and Julia Peristerakis

15 D  ecolonizing Museological Practices at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights The Canadian Museum for Human Rights (CMHR) recently opened in fall 2014 and is located on Treaty 1 lands in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. The CMHR was the first national museum to be built in Canada in over forty years.1 The inherently contentious nature of human rights subject matter, in addition to the Museum’s costs, schedules, and stakeholder concerns, have made the CMHR the subject of much scholarly and public scrutiny. An area of specific concern has been the way indigenous rights would be exhibited within the Museum, a concern that stems in part from the historic relationship between museums and indigenous peoples as one of colonialism and appropriation.2 In response to these concerns, the CMHR has developed a set of decolonizing practices with regard to its exhibitions of indigenous stories.3 This chapter is organized around the four decolonizing curatorial practices that make up the CMHR’s decolonizing methodology.4 These practices include engaging in thorough community collaboration, inclusion of indigenous content in each gallery, inclusion of indigenous worldviews and voices, and exhibiting violations of indigenous rights as a shared history of both indigenous and settler

1 In Canada, there exist various types of treaties between indigenous nations and the Crown. In Manitoba, the treaty-making process took place soon after Canadian confederation (1867) during the era of the Numbered Treaties (1871–1923). Treaty 1 was signed in 1871 and includes lands in southern Manitoba, including Winnipeg. A Treaty is an on-going relationship between indigenous nations and the Canadian government. 2 This chapter uses the term “indigenous peoples” to reference First Nations, Inuit, and Metis peoples or the Aboriginal peoples in Canada as per the Constitution Act, 1982 section 35 (Constitution Act 1982). This term is controversial as it can be used to reduce distinction amongst indigenous nations; however, this term is commonly used at the CMHR, as are the names of specific indigenous nations. 3 Colonialism, put simply, is one nation exerting its economic, political, and social systems onto another nation. Decolonialism is undoing these exertions. Decolonial museum practices are diverse, but follow a similar premise of undoing the colonial presence in museum curation and exhibitions and promoting indigenous empowerment through museum practices. At the CMHR, we refer to our practices not as “decolonial” but “decolonizing”, to make it explicit that our practices are ongoing processes and not completed objectives. 4 As members of the Research and Curation department with the responsibility to develop exhibit content, we will focus solely on Museum content for this chapter. Educational and public programming at the CMHR are outside the scope of this chapter. Additionally, both authors came to work on this project once the approach had largely been developed.

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peoples. The origin of these methodologies is found in the Task Force on Museums and First Peoples that recommended various measures to institute decolonizing museological practices at many museums (Task Force on Museums and First Peoples 1992). Since its publication, the theories and applications of these practices have continued to evolve, many of which shape our own methodology and the methodologies of other museums similarly committed to the establishment of respectful and collaborative relations with indigenous peoples. There are many defining characteristics to the CMHR, but one that shapes our work is that the CMHR is an ideas museum rather than an object-based museum. We use art, images, and interactive multimedia displays to engage visitors on various themes and ideas of human rights and, therefore, display very few artifacts and exhibit no sacred bundles.5 The Museum’s permanent collections are mostly based on the Oral History Program, which is currently comprised of over 170 interviews with human rights defenders, experts, and survivors, excerpts of which can be found in various exhibits. There are two significant external factors to our decolonizing methodology. The first external factor is that the CMHR, as a national museum, is a Crown corporation and therefore an institution of the federal government. The second external factor is that the CMHR is not a human rights commission, historical museum, cultural centre, or a strictly indigenous museum space. Much criticism and scrutiny directed at the Museum has been due to differing expectations of the functions and objectives of the Museum. The purpose of the CMHR is “to explore the subject of human rights, with special but not exclusive reference to Canada, in order to enhance the public’s understanding of human rights, promote respect for others, and to encourage reflection and dialogue” (Canada 2008, 15.2). The Museum, therefore, can present balanced views on human rights, educate the public, and elicit dialogue; it cannot adjudicate on violations of human rights.

5 Sacred bundles are defined at the CMHR as those living entities that belong to indigenous nations and that have and continue to be exhibited in museums. While often these are referred to as objects or artifacts, this is a misrepresentation: according to indigenous knowledge systems, these sacred bundles are alive. Because the CMHR does not collect or display sacred bundles, we do not have a process of repatriation. The Museum has faced criticism concerning repatriation of both sacred bundles and human remains; however, according to both the archaeological and engineer reports, no human remains were found at the location of the CMHR. For more, see Lamontagne (2014, 12).

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Community Collaboration Community collaboration is integral to any decolonizing museum practice. Throughout the history of museums, non-indigenous scholars and museum practitioners have represented indigenous cultures with little to no collaboration or discussion with the nations being represented. Historically, Western archaeologists rarely used indigenous ancestral knowledge to inform exhibitions of their cultures (Pettipas 1994). Consequently, representations of indigenous cultures in museums were wholly unrelated to the actual lived experiences and ancestral or traditional knowledge systems of indigenous peoples. These inaccurate representations have disempowered indigenous peoples. Many scholars argue that proper community consultation and community-curated exhibits can, therefore, be empowering to communities, aiding in goals of self-determination and ensuring proper representation (Lonetree 2006).6 Decolonizing practices, therefore, rely on collaboration and full participation of communities in the development and production of exhibits meant to represent them (Phillips 2011; Lonetree 2006). The Task Force on Museums and First Peoples confirmed that collaboration is “essential” to the process of exhibit development (Task Force on Museums and First Peoples 1992, 15) and Lonetree has referred to consultation as the current museum “best practice” (Lonetree 2012, 16). This change is largely a result of indigenous activism that demanded community consultation (Lonetree 2012). Indigenous-centred research methodologies require intent to formally involve the community that the research addresses in meaningful ways at each point of the process to enable the indigenous community to set research goals that align with its community-centred priorities (First Nations Centre 2007). The CMHR held nation-wide public engagement events between 2009 and 2011 in major cities across Canada to gather the stories of human rights atrocities, defences, and assertions of rights that Canadians wanted to be included in the Museum. One important outcome of these events was the expectation of regional representation, ensuring that all indigenous peoples, including First Nations, Inuit, and Metis, were represented. The Museum used a strategy for public engagement appropriate to its content development process and broader objectives as a museum in collaboration with indigenous communities. The CMHR’s nation6 Community consultation in research practices should not be confused with the legal Duty to Consult Indigenous Peoples. According to the Canadian Government, “The common law duty to consult is based on judicial interpretation of the obligations of the Crown (federal, provincial and territorial governments) in relation to potential or established Aboriginal or Treaty rights of the Aboriginal peoples of Canada, recognized and affirmed in section 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982” (Canada 2011, 6).

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wide engagement process was intended to collect a variety of perspectives on indigenous and non-indigenous stories for inclusion in the Museum and, thus this process should be considered an example of successful community engagement. In addition to involvement in developing and forming this engagement process, many indigenous peoples have formally and informally shaped indigenous content, exhibition infrastructure, and programming at the Museum. Several indigenous-centred stories were curated by external, indigenous experts/ curators and indigenous peoples sit on most of our advisory committees. The Museum has one committee that consists only of Elders from across Manitoba and western Ontario, who worked with the Museum to develop a specific programme, and one standing advisory committee that consists of indigenous peoples from across Canada. Other instances of content and exhibit development relied on informal external collaboration with various indigenous peoples. Additionally, all of the Museum’s ten core galleries went through a peer-review process with various indigenous scholars and community members. The recent collaboration between Shoal Lake 40 First Nation, Ontario,7 and the CMHR is an example of the Museum’s effort to include community collaboration alongside its public engagement initiatives.8 Daryl Redsky, a member of and the Consultation Officer for Shoal Lake 40, explained to us (pers. comm. 26 November 2014) how the City of Winnipeg’s water supply violates his community’s human rights. In the earlier twentieth century, the City built an aqueduct on this community’s burial grounds that severed the peninsula that Shoal Lake 40 sits on, making the community an island that “literally cut us off from the rest of the world”. With restricted access to the mainland, the surrounding lake has taken many lives. While this has resulted in human rights violations, Redsky describes the community initiatives to arrive at reconciliation: “it’s a sign of resilience and strength: we did not allow ourselves to be defeated or suppressed”. Shoal Lake 40 approached the Museum in May 2014. This contact initiated a process of collaboration that to date has consisted of a series of meetings. Museum staff were invited to visit the community to tour the location where human rights violations were occurring, participate in ceremony, and feast with the commu-

7 In Canada, First Nation communities, also known as Indian reserves, are numbered. Shoal Lake 40 discerns this community from the neighbour community of Shoal Lake 39, Ontario. 8 Another example includes the development of both indigenous-based research and ethics protocols. These protocols are framed on the principles of the OCAP (ownership, control, access, and possession) to better ensure that free and prior consent and indigenous-centred ethical standards are included in our decolonizing research and curation practices (First Nations Centre 2007).

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nity. Throughout this initial process of trust-building, community members generously shared their experiences of human rights violations with Museum staff. To date, Shoal Lake 40 has representation in one CMHR tour, Mikinak-Keya (the Spirit Tour), and in video footage that is part of the 360-degree film in the Indigenous Perspectives gallery. The Museum and Shoal Lake 40 continue to identify options to collaboratively tell this story.9 As we move forward in this new relationship, the Museum must proceed carefully and not take for granted that collaboration will be inherently decolonizing. Museums regularly collaborate; but as several scholars have cautioned, this is often to provide outside support to museums’ predetermined interests and not those of the community (Peers and Brown 2003; Ames 1999). Clearly, engagement alone makes no guarantee of a decolonizing outcome. Rather, these partnerships must be based on practices built on trust, respect, and equity to truly meet the interests of all parties involved.

Inclusion of Indigenous Worldviews and Voices Closely tied to community collaboration is the decolonizing method of including indigenous worldviews and indigenous peoples’ voices. Past museum practices have used Westernized concepts of interpretation to represent indigenous peoples and cultures, a process that placed Western concepts at the centre and indigenous worldviews at the periphery of exhibit narratives. Curatorial approaches stemming from Western rather than indigenous perspectives have often resulted in inadequate, inaccurate, and inauthentic representations of indigenous peoples and worldviews.10 Thus, decolonizing museum practices develop counteractive practices that include indigenous people’s voices and indigenous-centred worldviews at the centre, not the periphery, of the exhibit. The inclusion of multiple voices instead of “museum voice” is central to our approach. Many of the exhibits in the CMHR can arguably be what Phillips has termed “multivocal” (Phillips 2011, 194–204). Phillips argues that one approach to community collaboration is multivocal exhibit models that incorporate multiple meanings and perspectives, including community members, academics, other experts, and museum staff. For example, Inuk artist, curator, and profes-

9 To learn more on the violations of rights at Shoal Lake 40, visit their website at http://www. sl40.ca (accessed on 3 February 2016) and watch the film “The Road Home” (Shoal Lake 40 2014). 10 For more on this, see Bennett (1995) and McLoughlin (1999).

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sor Heather Igloliorte curated the “Land and Lifeways: Inuit Rights in the North” exhibit in the Canadian Journeys gallery. An example of the inclusion of indigenous worldviews can be found in the exhibit “Sayisi Dene: Displaced” in the Canadian Journeys gallery. In 1956, the Manitoba government relocated the Sayisi Dene First Nation from their ancestral lands in the Lac Brochet and Duck Lake regions to a community on the outskirts of Churchill. The Manitoba government did not fulfil its promise to provide housing, education, and healthcare. On the surface, this may not seem an expression of indigenous worldview, but the human rights violations experienced do allow for worldview to become evident. The Sayisi Dene have ancestral lands that supported their economic needs: the caribou hunt provided food, shelter, and clothing. These ancestral lands gave shape to language: the Sayisi Dene’s history is recorded in their language and on the landscape. The displacement to foreign lands meant that the relationship between language and land no longer held lessons for survival or cultural knowledge. To lose one’s land is to lose one’s economic security, political system, social processes, identity, and ability to transfer knowledge in culturally correct ways.11 The Sayisi Dene were relocated back to their traditional lands in 1973 but the memory of these violations remains.12 As we developed this exhibit text, we tried to ensure the Sayisi Dene’s connection of cultural identity and livelihood to their ancestral lands was clearly connected to these state-led violations of their human rights. Another example of the inclusion of indigenous people’s voice can be found in the exhibit “Indigenous Voices”, that consists of three large column installations that measure almost eight metres or three stories in height and features indigenous peoples sharing their own understandings of indigenous rights. Three indigenous writers were selected to “give voice” to different perspectives on the connection between indigenous rights and the land that resulted in three broad themes: Taiaiake Alfred shares his Kanien’kehaka perspective on the transmitted knowledge of rights and responsibilities; Michif Elder Maria Campbell shares her experiences with land dispossession and resistance; and, through her poetry, Josephine Bacon describes how land rights inform identity and discusses contemporary Innu rights struggles that arise from environmental degradation. Aside from a quote or excerpt from the selected indigenous author, along with a short biography, there is very little text or interpretation for this exhibit. The 11 This connection of livelihood, worldview, and land is well evidenced: examples include “Chapter 1: Land as History Book” in Ray (1996) and “Chapter: Land Speaks” in Cardinal and Armstrong (1991). 12 For more on the Sayisi Dene nation, see the film “Sayisi-Dene First Nation: Nu Ho Ni Yeh (Our Story)” (Code, Code and Nosaty 1992).

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voices of the featured authors are left to speak for themselves, without the imposition of “museum voice” to interpret those meanings. Any additional exhibit interpretation is offered in digital touchscreen stations located beside the installations, where visitors can watch video clips extracted from oral history interviews to hear the authors elaborate on the rights presented in the installation. In this way, indigenous peoples themselves share their knowledge and teachings with visitors. These oral history interviews were used as the foundation for the design and development of the exhibit and the authors were included in every step of development.13 The tension between conventional museological forms of interpretation and indigenous-centred means of transmitting knowledge poses a challenge to decolonizing practice. Mithlo (2004) argues that some museums continue to present indigenous knowledge systems as inferior; when these systems are privileged, moreover, they are represented as “quaint myths” (Lonetree 2012, 169). This tension exists at the CMHR where we have observed visitors and staff alike placing emphasis on examining indigenous cultures rather than on indigenous rights. Will this emphasis downplay indigenous rights as merely cultural representations, rather than affirmed legal, political, economic rights along with traditional rights and responsibilities, that have sustained indigenous peoples for millennia? We sense this tendency to conflate indigenous rights with culture is derived from two occurrences that challenge other decolonizing museological practices. First, it has been argued that decolonizing representations of indigenous peoples at the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI) did not meet the expectations of non-indigenous museum visitors (Barker and Dumont 2006). Second, Conn has criticized the NMAI’s lack of museum interpretation and he writes that for museum staff to argue, “‘It’s an Indian thing. You wouldn’t understand,’ isn’t sufficient for an institution ... The job of a museum, first and foremost, is to make us understand, or at least to try ...” (Conn 2006, 72). As research-curatorial staff, we have been concerned that similar weaknesses exist in our decolonizing methodologies where museum voice and institutional interpretation are minimal. It is a challenge to balance indigenous people’s voice and worldviews with museum interpretations that are often settler-oriented. Museum practices clearly need to continue the efforts to strike this balance as part of a decolonizing methodology. 13 Lonetree has argued that the Ziibiwing Centre of Anishinabe Culture & Lifeways in Michigan has been successful because of its use of oral histories to form historical interpretation (Lonetree 2009). Conaty argues that indigenous knowledge can be lost in translation; thus, indigenous languages allow traditional and ancestral knowledges to remain better intact in museum spaces (Conaty 2003).

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The Inclusion of Indigenous Content in Each Gallery Indigenous rights-based content is presented throughout the entire Museum. In the past, museums tended to restrict indigenous content to one area. This dispersal of content across all galleries is critical to any decolonizing museum practices. As Phillips has argued, the structure of space in the traditional museum has domains of inclusion and exclusion that carry messages of colonialism, patriarchy, and elitism in ways that become “naturalized” (Phillips 2011, 95). Therefore, these inaccurate representations can become naturalized representations in traditional museum practices. To decolonize these traditional practices, the CMHR has included indigenous content in each core gallery. While each core gallery presents indigenous rights content within the context of its particular gallery theme, there is one core gallery that is a strictly indigenous space – the Indigenous Perspectives gallery – that currently uses land and its interconnectivity to rights as a unifying platform to discuss the diversity of indigenous rights. That land and rights are interconnected is one of the major commonalities amongst indigenous nations throughout the world. There are, however, various perspectives of rights amongst indigenous nations. In Canada, there are various sets and interpretations to rights that include Aboriginal rights that can be found in section 35 of the Canadian Constitution Act, 1982 (Constitution Act 1982), Treaty rights, international rights such as the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) (United Nations 2007), and those ancestral rights gifted from the Creator that continue to be practised today. In this gallery, indigenous rights are not defined by the Canadian state in an effort to shift away from rights defined by Euro-Canadian understandings. Instead, the focus is on indigenous-centred understandings of the connection of lands to rights and responsibilities. The exhibits in the Indigenous Perspectives gallery are not about rights violations or the denial of indigenous rights under colonialism. Instead, this gallery focuses on rights and responsibilities that arise from ancestral traditional knowledge and indigenous worldviews while emphasising the continuance of these rights today. This approach was summarized by the Honourable Justice Murray Sinclair when he explained, “you cannot look at the violation of rights without looking at the value of the original rights”.14

14 Justice Murray Sinclair is a member of St Peter’s First Nation, a judge (Provincial Queen’s Court, Manitoba), and the Chair of the Canadian Truth and Reconciliation Commission. While a number of internal CMHR documents cite this quote, and it has been used to guide much of our

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While the focus of the Indigenous Perspectives gallery is on those original rights and responsibilities, it is important to note that the exhibits still discuss settler contact and colonial impact, making it clear that ancestral knowledge remains intact despite colonialism. In addition to this, multiple exhibits in each of the other permanent galleries offer an in-depth examination of major episodes of colonialism and ongoing violations of indigenous rights in Canada and abroad. The original rights examined in the Indigenous Perspectives gallery are, in this way, traced through the entire museum and can be used as a framework for the visitor to better understand the impacts of colonial violations. This approach is aligned with Lonetree’s (2012) assertion that the survivance and resiliency of indigenous peoples should not be the exclusive focus for a decolonizing approach. Rather, Lonetree argues that decolonizing museums “must be in the service of speaking the hard truths of colonialism” (Lonetree 2012, 6). According to this perspective, exhibits that focus on the survival of indigenous peoples without examining colonial violations have simply not told the entire story. As a whole, the broader content approach throughout the CMHR galleries offers both exhibits examining episodes of colonial violence while also emphasizing indigenous peoples’ resiliency and agency in spite of these historical and ongoing rights violations.

Shared History that Affects both Indigenous and Non-Indigenous Peoples The decolonizing method of shared history used throughout the CMHR is another response to traditional museum classification systems that were not inclusive. This approach builds on the technique of threading indigenous rights-based content into each gallery. Phillips has argued that traditional museum classifications do not demonstrate the interconnectivity of cultures and nations; instead, cultures and nations are isolated or marginalized in inauthentic and inaccurate ways (Phillips 2011). For example, Phillips explains that these representations support outdated depictions of indigenous peoples or create false distinctions between Euro-settlers and indigenous peoples. In an effort to move past inaccurate representations that marginalize indigenous peoples, the CMHR presented human rights histories of indigenous peoples and non-indigenous peoples as shared history. decolonizing curatorial approach, there is no documentation of when this quote was provided to the Museum, whether through consultation, personal communication, etc.

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The Canadian Journeys gallery, which explores Canada’s human rights history including both gains and rights violations, has stories of indigenous rights that are interspersed with non-indigenous or settler Canadian human rights stories. This is intended to show that stories of indigenous rights are a shared history between indigenous and settler peoples in Canada and not separate from larger Canadian narratives. This approach is intended to emphasise that violations of indigenous rights were perpetrated by state actors and institutions and that, therefore, all Canadians have a responsibility to promote indigenous rights. The goal is to show visitors why issues of Indian Residential Schools or missing and murdered indigenous women are all part of our national history, rather than issues concerning only indigenous peoples. Additionally, these stories represent not only violations of indigenous rights but agency, mobilization, and the resiliency of indigenous peoples in Canada. Stories presented in the Canadian Journeys gallery include Aboriginal land rights, Inuit rights, Metis rights, the reserve pass and permit system, the federal ban on the Potlatch ceremony and repatriation of confiscated sacred bundles, and clean water in First Nations communities, to name a few. So often in any settler colonial society, including Canada, indigenous peoples’ perspectives and worldviews are marginalized with these perspectives presented on the periphery or as an afterthought. And yet, as our Protecting Rights in Canada gallery demonstrates, indigenous peoples are the first peoples of North America and their legal and political systems are those that frame the Canadian settler legal and political system. The gallery presents indigenous legal systems in balance and interwoven with the common law and civil law legal systems of Canadian settler society. For example, the exhibit “Canada’s Legal System” houses various artifacts including the Royal Proclamation of 1763 (Royal Proclamation 1763), the Canadian Constitution Act, 1982 (Constitution Act 1982), and the court robes of Honourable Justice Leonard S. Mandamin, the first judge to preside over the Tsuu T’ina and Sitsika First Nations courts in Alberta. These artifacts demonstrate the process of colonization through the legal system and the use of traditional indigenous legal methods to initiate decolonizing legal practices. The exhibit further demonstrates how indigenous legal perspectives and systems shaped settler Canadian legal systems, how settler practices came to circumvent indigenous traditions as happens in the processes of colonialism, and how indigenous legal practices remain important tools for reconciling colonialism.15

15 For more on the influences of indigenous legal practices on settler legal practices and decolonizing legal practices in Canada, see Borrows (2010).

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Challenges Contemporary decolonizing museum practices have met many challenges. Criticism abounds including the decolonizing practices that, it is argued, privilege indigenous voice over traditional museum practice (Lonetree 2006) or collaborations that have failed to promote indigenous-based interests in museum research practices (Mithlo 2004). We would argue that the CMHR’s efforts have similarly been criticized and challenged and we see these as areas of continued dialogue. Furthermore, it has been argued that truly decolonizing practices can only be derived in community or tribal museums (Rassool 2009; Lonetree 2012). As a national museum, the CMHR simply cannot overcome this tension. As Boast explains, museums have been the “premier colonial institutions” and continue to be colonial spaces, that must be constantly negotiated (Boast 2011, 64). This is certainly true of the CMHR which is a Crown corporation. Is it, then, even possible for the CMHR to be a truly decolonizing museum? That remains to be seen. One of the greatest challenges facing decolonizing museological practices is a word of caution from both Harrison and Boast, who argue that contemporary decolonizing museum practices can promote neocolonial museum practices (Harrison 1997; Boast 2011). Neocolonialism is a process that evokes both the motivations and outcomes of colonialism but in ways that are not typically associated with colonialism (Ashcroft, Griffiths and Tiffin 2000). In this way, neo-colonialism can be difficult to detect and might appear “subtle” but are actually “brutal forms of oppression” (Alfred and Corntassel 2005, 602). As Boast writes, museums continue “to be used instrumentally as a means of masking far more fundamental asymmetries, appropriations, and biases,” (Boast 2011, 67) and Harrison writes that decolonizing museum practices can be presented with an “assumption of change, rather than the enactment of change” (Harrison 1997, 41). Modern museums, therefore, can be said to practice forms of neo-colonialism. So, where our decolonizing practices may not have gone far enough, we must also be conscious of not stepping into an area of perpetrating neo-colonialism. An example of this issue in the CMHR’s exhibits is in regards to the debate over the use of the word “genocide” to describe the experience of indigenous peoples in Canada. The debate stemmed from the Museum’s use of the term to describe the perspective of many indigenous and non-indigenous Canadians that Canada’s historic treatment of indigenous peoples constitutes genocide rather than to use the term as an authoritative designation. The exhibit element in question concerned the “Study Table” exhibit in our Breaking the Silence gallery and was criticized before the Museum opened. This gallery explores sixteen mass atrocities across time and place to better understand different stages of atrocities including how the violating parties deny and distort their actions and how

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victims speak out and act out to break the silence about mass atrocities. The entry point of this exhibit is the Indian Residential School System, arguably one of the worst and longest-running colonial violations against indigenous peoples in Canada. The scope of the exhibit includes early colonial policies as the build-up to the atrocity and a “breaking the silence” section that includes a brief discussion of ongoing efforts to have the treatment of indigenous peoples recognized as genocide. Importantly, if the indigenous experience in Canada is officially acknowledged by an international court or our own government, our approach will be revisited.16 This complicated issue demonstrates the tension between decolonial, colonial, and neocolonial practices. Consider the sustained efforts of indigenous peoples to have the Canadian state properly and formerly address this genocide as such. How would these efforts and the impending recognition be impacted if they resulted from a colonial institution stepping in and naming this atrocity as genocide? Would it slow the progress being made or would it be yet another act of colonial state interference? “Genocide” can be considered a colonial concept and using this concept is a potential act of neocolonialism in its privileging of settler terminology and discourse over concepts or words that stem from indigenous belief systems. This single instance provides an example of how the line between decolonialism and neo-colonialism can become blurred in contemporary museum practices.

Conclusion The CMHR is uniquely positioned in that it was the first national museum to be established in Canada in over forty years. Its entire premise was envisioned and developed in a decolonizing era. During this time, the landscape has changed concerning indigenous rights in Canada. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission was established in 2008 to investigate the full extent of the harms perpetrated during the Indian Residential School era and to lay the ground work to begin a process for national reconciliation. Canada finally endorsed UNDRIP in 2010, affirming existing Indigenous rights including land, language, and cultural rights (United Nations 2007). The Idle No More grassroots movement grew out of 16 For more on this position, see Sinclair and Murray who write, “We need to take seriously the perspective that the entire process of colonization in Canada would fall within the definition of genocide as contained in the UN Convention. Confronting honestly and deeply such realities of colonialism in Canada is one of our most important human rights tasks” (Sinclair and Murray 2014, §11).

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a series of protests and other activism against federal legislation introduced in 2012 that threatened indigenous rights. The movement has provided a platform for diverse concerns facing indigenous peoples across the nation. Within this broader context of growing awareness and demands for indigenous rights, the CMHR developed its own decolonizing framework for indigenous-centred content. This chapter has explored the four decolonizing museological practices of the CMHR. We have tried to demonstrate that the intention of many of these practices has been to decolonize, but that the outcomes of these intentions has not always been decolonial. This might be due the colonial nature of the Museum as a federal Crown corporation or the wider challenges that exist in decolonizing museological practices. The outcome of this methodology is open to further interpretation especially since these exhibits are just newly open to the public to see for themselves.

References Alfred, Taiaiake and Jeff Corntassel. 2005. “Being Indigenous: Resurgences against Contemporary Colonialism.” Government and Opposition 40(4): 597–614. Ames, Michael. 1999. “How to Decorate a House: The Re-negotiation of Cultural Representations at the University of British Colombia Museum of Anthropology.” Museum Anthropology 22(3): 41–51. Ashcroft, Bill, Gareth Griffiths and Helen Tiffin. 2000. Post-Colonial Studies: The Key Concepts. London: Routledge. Barker, Joanne and Clayton Dumont. 2006. “Contested Conversations: Presentations, Expectations, and Responsibility at the National Museum of the American Indian.” American Indian Culture and Research Journal 30(2): 111–140. Bennett, Tony. 1995. The Birth of the Museum: History, Theory, Politics. London; New York: Routledge. Boast, Robin. 2011. “Neocolonial Collaboration: Museum as Contact Zone Revisited.” Museum Anthropology 34(1): 56–70. Borrows, John. 2010. Canada’s Indigenous Constitution. Toronto; Buffalo, NY: University of Toronto Press. Canada. 2008. Canada’s Museum Act. Act to Amend the Museums Act. http://laws-lois.justice. gc.ca/eng/annualstatutes/2008_9/page-1.html. Accessed on 30 May 2015. Canada. Department of Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development Canada. 2011. Aboriginal Consultation and Accommodation: Updated Guidelines for Federal Officials to Fulfill the Duty to Consult. http://www.aadnc-aandc.gc.ca/DAM/DAM-INTER-HQ/STAGING/texte-text/ intgui_1100100014665_eng.pdf. Accessed on 30 May 2015. Cardinal, Douglas and Jeannette C. Armstrong. 1991. The Native Creative Process: A Collaborative Discourse between Douglas Cardinal and Jeannette Armstrong. Penticton, BC: Theytus Books.

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Code, Allen, Mary Code and Greg Nosaty. 1992. Sayisi-Dene First Nation: Nu Ho Ni Yeh (Our Story). Film. Tadoule Lake, Manitoba: Treeline Productions. Conaty, Gerald T. 2003. “Glenbow’s Blackfoot Gallery: Working towards Co-Existence.” In Museums and Source Communities: A Routledge Reader, edited by Laura Peers and Alison Brown, 227–241. London; New York: Routledge. Conn, Steven. 2006. “Heritage vs. History at the National Museum of the American Indian.” The Public Historian 28(2): 69–74. Constitution Act, 1982, being Schedule B to the Canada Act 1982 (UK), 1982, c 11. First Nations Centre. 2007. OCAP: Ownership, Control, Access and Possession: Sanctioned by the First Nations Governance Committee, Assembly of First Nations. Ottawa: National Aboriginal Health Organization. http://cahr.uvic.ca/nearbc/documents/2009/FNC-OCAP. pdf. Accessed on 12 June 2015. Harrison, Julia. 1997. “Museums as Agencies of Neocolonialism in a Postmodern World.” Studies in Cultures, Organizations, and Societies 3(1): 41–65. Lamontagne, Mireille. 2014. “Archaeological Project, Canadian Museum for Human Rights.” Winnipeg: the Manitoba Archeological Society. http://www. manitobaarchaeologicalsociety.ca/sites/default/files/ARCHAEOLOGICAL%20PROJECT%20 CMHR%20%5BDEC%202014%5D_0.pdf. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Lonetree, Amy. 2006. “Continuing Dialogues: Evolving Views of the National Museum of the American Indian.” The Public Historian 28(2): 57–62. —. 2009. “Museums as Sites of Decolonization: Truth Telling in National and Tribal Museums.” In Contesting Knowledge: Museums and Indigenous Perspectives, edited by Susan Sleeper-Smith, 322–337. Lincoln; London: University of Nebraska Press. —. 2012. Decolonizing Museums: Representing Native America in National and Tribal Museums. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. McLoughlin, Moira. 1999. Museums and the Representation of Native Canadians. New York: Routledge. Mithlo, Nancy Marie. 2004. “‘Red Man’s Burden’: The Politics of Inclusion in Museum Settings.” American Indian Quarterly 28(3/4): 743–763. Peers, Laura and Alison Brown. 2003. Museums and Source Communities: A Routledge Reader. London; New York: Routledge. Pettipas, Leo. 1994. “Other Peoples’ Heritage”: A Cross-Cultural Approach to Museum Interpretation. Winnipeg: Association of Manitoba Museums. Phillips, Ruth B. 2011. Museum Pieces: Toward the Indigenization of Canadian Museums. Montreal; Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Rassool, Ciraj. 2009. “Ethnographic Elaborations, Indigenous Contestations, and the Cultural Politics of Imagining Community: A View from the District Six Museum in South Africa.” In Contesting Knowledge: Museums and Indigenous Perspectives, edited by Susan Sleeper-Smith, 106–126. Lincoln; London: University of Nebraska Press. Ray, Arthur J. 1996. I Have Lived Here Since the World Began: An Illustrated History of Canada’s Native People. Toronto: Lester Publishing. Royal Proclamation, 1763, R.S.C., 1985, App. II, No. 1. Shoal Lake 40. 2014. “Museum of Canadian Human Rights Violations.” http://www.sl40.ca. Accessed on 1 May 2015. Sinclair, Murray and Stuart Murray. 2014. “Canada Must Confront the Truth.” Winnipeg Free Press 1 November. http://www.winnipegfreepress.com/opinion/analysis/canada-mustconfront-the-truth-281166292.html. Accessed on 12 June 2015.

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Task Force on Museums and First Peoples. 1992. Turning the Page: Forging New Partnerships between Museums and First Peoples. Ottawa: Canadian Museums Association; Assembly of First Nations. UN General Assembly. 2007. United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: resolution/adopted by the General Assembly, A/RES/61/295. http://www.un-documents. net/a61r295.htm. Accessed on 22 January 2016.

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A Cree Elders’ Vision Expressed Through a Community Institute The Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute (ACCI), conceived in the 1980s and brought to fruition over several decades, originated as an Elders’ vision and has since been transformed to accommodate an institutional mandate by focusing on aanschaa (cultural continuity) to serve the communities it represents, while balancing those needs with the strict stipulations of a “Category A” institution, as designated by Heritage Canada. Consisting of a collecting museum, a community archive, and a subject-based library, the institute epitomises the holistic approach the nine Cree communities in Northern Québec have brought to “Reclaiming the Ways of [Their] Ancestors.” Representing the Cree of Eeyou Istchee (the Eastern James Bay Region) with members from each community on the Board of Directors, Aanischaaukamikw serves as a central hub through which Cree culture can be celebrated and knowledge can be shared with younger generations and non-Cree visitors alike. It is establishing itself as a dynamic community project. As so much of the success of Aanischaaukamikw has relied upon it, this chapter will focus upon the balanced approach taken to adapt “conventional” Western and/or Canadian standards in its collections, archives, and library to better suit the indigenous community it represents and, in so doing, making it respectfully accessible.

Introduction Born of an Elders’ vision, and catalysed by the political climate surrounding the hydroelectric development in the James Bay Region in Northern Québec in the 1970s–1980s, the ACCI epitomizes not only Aboriginal ownership as it serves the community that it proudly represents but it is also an institution that balances those needs with the requirements of its Heritage Canada “Category A” designation. Comprising a museum, community archive, and subject-based library, this developing community hub, though still young, manages to incorporate the concept of aanschaa, cultural continuity, into every facet of its being due in large part to its emphasis on Cree ownership.



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Members from each of the nine Cree communities in Northern Québec are on Aanischaaukamikw’s board of directors and almost all of the permanent staff identify as Eeyou/Eenou. As such, ACCI is quickly becoming a dynamic community project that allows younger generations of Cree to “Reclaim the Ways of [Their] Ancestors.” This was aptly described by the museum’s inaugural exhibition that celebrated and shared the traditional ways with non-Cree visitors. By Aanischaaukamikw placing the needs of the people of Eeyou Istchee (the traditional Cree land of Eastern James Bay) at the forefront of its institutional mandate, it has been able to successfully adapt “conventional” Western and/ or Canadian standards in its collections, archives, and library. The ACCI then becomes respectfully accessible to both Cree and visitors while establishing an undeniable “thread of tradition” (Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute 2006, 6) that will continue for generations to come.

Community History Eeyou Istchee covers around 450,000 square kilometres in the province of Québec and holds a population of approximately 18,000 Cree people in 2012 (Grand Council of the Crees of Québec 2014). In this region there are nine Cree communities – Chisasibi, Eastmain, Mistissini, Nemaska, Ouje-Bougoumou, Waskaganish, Waswanipi, Whapmagoostui, and Wemindji – that are found along the coast of the James Bay and further inland near Lake Mistassini. Life of the Eeyou/Eenou (Cree for “the people”) changed rapidly following the announcement by the provincial government of Québec on 30 April 1971 regarding the James Bay Hydroelectric Project. Though there had been no consultation with the Eeyou/Eenou, this project necessitated the flooding of 8,722 square kilometres of Cree land and the clearcutting of more than 900 kilometres of forest (Faries and Pashagumskum 2002). The James Bay Hydroelectric Project had a devastating impact on the Eeyou/ Eenou, of which half of the Eeyou Istchee population was still living entirely off the land and 20% worked full-time jobs (Faries and Pashagumskum 2002). The Eeyou/Eenou requested that Indian Affairs intervene but no action was taken and, as a result, the Eeyou/Eenou decided to stop the project themselves by establishing a regional organization to represent its people. This resulted in the foundation of the Indians of Québec Association, which in turn hired burgeoning community leaders Philip Awashish and Chief Billy Diamond to begin mobilization against the project.

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The court case, Kanatewat et al v. The James Bay Development Corporation was initiated by the James Bay Crees to attempt to stop the hydroelectric project. It was led by Chief Robert Kanatewat of Fort George (now known as Chisasibi) and in 1973 The Honourable Albert Malouf ruled in favour of the Eeyou/Eenou. The victory for the Cree was short lived, however, as within a week the ruling had been dismissed by the Québec Appeals Court (Kanatewat et al. v. The James Bay Development Corporation 1975). During this period of reform lasting from 1974 to 1975, the Eeyou/Eenou organised the Grand Council of the Crees of Québec (GCCQ). Chief Billy Diamond of Waskaganish, a representative of the Indians of Québec Association, became the first Grand Chief of Eeyou Istchee. Following this appointment, treaty negotiations between the GCCQ, the Province of Québec, and the Government of Canada took over eight months. The final result of these negotiations was the unprecedented James Bay and Northern Québec Agreement (JBNQA) that was signed in 1975. The JNBQA acknowledged the traditional rights of the Cree of the James Bay Region to hunt, trap and fish, and allotted $150 million as compensation for the Cree people for the land that was going to be used for Québec’s hydroelectric project. Land was divided in areas around each of the Cree communities to ensure that the ensuing work conducted in proximity to each community would be under jurisdiction of the Cree. The agreement also allowed for such entities as the Cree School Board, the Cree Hunters and Trappers Income Security Program, and the Cree Board of Health and Social Services of James Bay to be created. In addition to this, in 1982, the Cree Regional Authority (which has since become the Cree Nation Government) was created as the administrative arm of the GCCQ. In 1988, the people of Oujé-Bougoumou were formally recognized as a band and work to establish a permanent community began. The community was designed by Métis architect Douglas Cardinal and, in 1993, Oujé-Bougoumou won the “We the Peoples: 50 Communities Award” from the United Nations. The “We the Peoples” Award was created in 1995 to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the United Nations (Oujé-Bougoumou Band Council 2015). Oujé-Bougoumou was awarded in the category of Human Settlement for the construction of the new village (Oujé-Bougoumou Band Council 2015). During these exciting years of rapid change, it was decided by the band that this new “model” community should be selected as the site for a Cree Museum as envisioned by the Elders to ensure the safeguarding of traditional knowledge despite the fluid social, political, and physical environment.



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The Birth of Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute The development of Aanischaaukamikw has been an important element of the watershed events following the signing of the James Bay Northern Québec Agreement. This represents another manifestation of the Eeyou/Eenou initiating change in Eeyou Istchee rather than allowing themselves to be acted upon by the federal or provincial government without consultation or consent (Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute 2006). Aanischaaukamikw, therefore, was conceived of by community Elders and later built to elucidate regional Cree priorities and act as a focal point where Eeyou/Eenou culture can be preserved and interpreted autonomously (Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute 2006; The Grand Council of the Crees of Québec n.d.). In 1998, only five years after the planning of the community itself and a mere ten years after the formal recognition of the Cree of Oujé-Bougoumou as a band by the Canadian government, Aanischaaukamikw was formalized as a project and campaigning began in earnest. Grand Chief Matthew Coon Come elaborated upon the importance this institution would have for both Eeyou Istchee and beyond (Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute 2015b): Aanischaaukamikw is the physical expression of something the Cree Elders have challenged us to see for a long time: the reclaiming of our traditional ways, the passing-on and protecting of our legends, our stories, our way of life. The presence of Aanischaaukamikw will allow us to share the best we have with the world. By sharing our culture and our ways of living in harmony with the environment, we can foster better understanding of Cree concerns, values and perspectives, and reinforce the enormous value of cultural linkage and exchange. Aanischaaukamikw will capture, chronicle, and make available this unique system of values and beliefs which comes from our special relationship with the land. These are lessons the Crees can share with the whole world.

It became clear that, at this point, the institute was necessary as it was the responsibility of both the Elders and the Grand Council to ensure that the significance of Cree history from past and present political actions, culture, and knowledge as well as the lessons they had learned through their experiences were shared to all James Bay Cree and globally (The Grand Council of the Crees 2015). To transform this dream into a reality, thirteen years of campaigning was undertaken, and nearly $16 million was raised from sources including provincial and federal governments, Cree entities and businesses, as well as individuals and families

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(Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute 2015b). Furthermore, Douglas Cardinal was selected as the architect and agreements were made with institutions holding large James Bay Cree collections, such as the Canadian Museum of Civilization (now the Canadian Museum of History), to ensure that the sharing of objects and information would be possible. On 5 November 2009, a ground-breaking ceremony officially marked the beginning of construction of the architecturally unprecedented building made primarily of laminated spruce and inspired by the form of the traditional Cree structure sabtuan, all while conforming to international museum standards. This design had been decided upon through the close collaboration of Douglas Cardinal and the community Elders who together held a series of visioning sessions during both its development and construction. Ultimately, the main level of Aanischaaukamikw came to encompass exhibition space and visible storage, library, archives, administrative areas and offices, demonstration spaces, and the main hall for the greeting of guests and special performances. After Chief Billy Diamond’s sudden passing in September 2010, the Hall was named Wâpahtiyiwewikamikw Chief Billy Diamond Memorial Hall in his honour on the grand opening on 8 June 2012. The hall is one of the most versatile and breathtaking spaces in this institute. The lower level, which is not generally open to the public, holds the research laboratories, archaeology offices and laboratories, conservation areas, storage, additional administrative space, and office space available for other Cree entities as required. In 2010, with the construction well underway, key museum staff, including the Museum Director, were selected; programming was established; and artifact collection formally began. By November of 2011, Aanischaaukamikw was open. Since this time, the Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute has both upheld the Elders’ vision of a central place for the protection of traditional knowledge and the dissemination of the culture and traditions. As Grand Chief Matthew Coon Come posited, the Institute has safeguarded the relationship between the people and the land over the past 5,000 years. This celebration of the culture of Eeyou Istchee reaches to every tangible component of Aanischaaukamikw through its museum, library, and archival collections, as well as through outreach of educational programming, cultural activities held at or supported by the Institute, Cree language studies, and other research. For its full potential as a cultural institute to be reached and for its mandate to be upheld, this necessitated an adaptation of standards, particularly in its manner of collection and documentation. Such adaptations have been carefully considered and selected by staff to allow the institute to best serve its community and to maximize its impact on every scale.



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Adaptation of Standards Museum It is the mandate of the Aanischaaukamikw Museum to collect, preserve, and exhibit material culture of the Eeyou/Eenou of Eeyou Istchee including clothing, tools, artwork, toys, and archaeological artifacts. The collection focuses on both historical and contemporary artifacts that best reflect the history and culture of the region. Aanischaaukamikw maintains a permanent exhibit on the main floor of the institute with visible storage space holding art and sculpture in the hallway leading to the primary exhibition. Once the visitor enters the exhibition they are presented with a backlit wall superimposed with a map of the Eeyou Istchee. Contained in display cases within this map are archaeological finds from the region, with each case corresponding to a specific site or a cluster of sites, at once giving the visitor a sense of the (at least) 5,000–7,000 year history of the Cree in Northern Québec and the expanse of the Eeyou Istchee. From there, the visitor can follow their own path through the exhibits experiencing the physical and multimedia displays and learning more about the Eeyou/ Eenou from times long past. For example, there are tools, household objects, and clothing (amongst much else), as well as information about political and environmental accomplishments of recent generations through objects such as an original signed copy of the James Bay Northern Québec Agreement. In addition, it includes artifacts such as Billie Weetaltuk’s Odeyak (half canoe, half kayak) built and paddled from Whapmagoostui to New York City in 1990 for Earth Day celebrations to formally protest The Great Whale Hydroelectric Project. Several additional audiovisual areas allow visitors to personally experience these historical items and moments. For its inaugural exhibit, Aanischaaukamikw chose Aachiiwashchaanuuch, “Reclaiming the Ways of Our Ancestors”, to specifically emphasise aanschaa (cultural continuity) and to aid in the passing on of traditions to younger generations while sharing knowledge with visitors. The desire to establish this connection is deemed of the utmost importance as it is believed by Aanischaaukamikw staff, as well as others in the community, that as more connections are established with the past, the stronger Cree identity will become in the present and in the future (Weizman 2010). Furthermore, by approaching the exhibition through a manner of “storytelling”, knowledge can be shared by the fourfold audience of Crees, researchers, school children, and the general public (Weizman 2010, 6–7). Storytelling, being in equal parts engaging and significant in Cree culture, allows

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the various threads of the exhibit to be seamlessly, “woven together to transmit the voices of the Elders to future generations” (Weizman 2010, 3). The effectiveness of this tactic is made apparent in the central multimedia installment. Also formed in the shape of a sabtuan, it mirrors the larger institute. In this display, however, the visitor may sit down and watch as Elders (on screens located throughout the sabtuan) take turns speaking about the items held in the display in Cree with English and French subtitles, their significance, and stories related to them. As each speaks, the other Elders around the sabtuan listen attentively, almost universally elucidating the same response from the visitors and, indeed, establishing the desired connection between generations – both those that came before and after the Elders themselves. Beyond just the standard manner of museum display, due to the Aanischaaukamikw institutional mandate, the museum collection must also be used in wider outreach including demonstrations, workshops, and educational programming. For this reason, the objects acquired by ACCI are assigned either to Core collections that are used exclusively for exhibition and research due to their importance, fragility, and/or uniqueness, or to Living collections, that are typically more robust, modern, duplicates of specific Core collection items. The Living collection items are then used for practical educational sessions held by Aanischaaukamikw. As to be expected in a Cree-owned and -staffed cultural institute, one of the first priorities in the curation of objects for the Core collection was to recover objects from Eeyou Istchee that have been widely disseminated in museums and private collections all over the world through both long-term museum loans and purchase (Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute 2006). The formal acquisition of such objects will be instrumental as they become part of the permanent historic collection held at Aanischaaukamikw and as they continue to provide inspiration for contemporary Eeyou/Eenou craftspeople (Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute 2006). Looking forward, the museum curatorial staff will be gradually moving away from national and international museum loans, instead choosing to focus on community member loans and donations, to further connect the current generation with Aanischaaukamikw and to safeguard the material culture currently in Eeyou Istchee.

Library The Aanischaaukamikw Library collects and preserves books and publications to support education and research in Eeyou Istchee. The library is topical and holds material specifically relating to the Eeyou/Eenou, the Cree Nation, Aborig-



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inal peoples in North America, and current and historic events in the region. The collection includes books, magazines, DVDs, CDs, and academic journals and is open to the general public, students, and researchers. The collection of materials for the library started while the museum was being planned and conceptually developed. Books pertaining to museums, local publications, and work of academic importance were purchased for research and used by staff. Though the building itself and the museum opened for the public concurrently, the library is still in the collections phase and unavailable for public lending. However, loans have been permitted to staff, local community members, and teachers on an honour basis as the library continues establishing itself. The library has continued to purchase books and receive donations since the grand opening of the Institute. The library’s most prolific donors have been Dr Harvey Feit (Professor Emeritus of Anthropology at McMaster University) who, in 2013, donated his personal collection of over one thousand books; and the family of Dr Cath Oberholtzer who, in the summer of 2014, donated more than nine hundred books and journals. The library has also received substantial donations from linguist Dr Marguerite MacKenzie, the Cree Nation Government, and various other donors and organizations. The library is a subject-based collection, focusing primarily on Eeyou Istchee, but spans to encompass information both about and important for Aboriginal and indigenous people from Canada and globally. Fittingly, the library holds a large collection of materials pertaining to anthropology, archaeology, and history. The majority of the library holdings are written in the languages of English, French, and Cree, with those in English being the most common. The library collects books for all age levels and the Children’s Section is continuing to develop with a focus on incorporating more books in the local Cree dialect. There are few libraries in Eeyou Istchee, and before ACCI, they existed only in schools. ACCI library hopes to provide access to all communities, by allowing loans for all nine communities. A Rare Book/Special Collection section is also under development for Cree books and materials published in the region. Many Biblical texts and prayers were published in Cree syllabics by missionaries and homemade books were also created by community members and used around Eeyou Istchee. Due to their rarity, early publications of Cree School Board material and the Cree Way Project will be included in this Special Collection rather than in the Children’s Section. With time, however, multiple copies of rare books could be collected allowing for additional copies to be moved to the Children’s Section as the Cree Way Project published a large number of primary readers. In 2013, staff members met to discuss the future of the library, specifically a type of classification system that was going to be implemented throughout the

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formal cataloguing process. Though advisors recommended the use of traditional systems such as Library of Congress (LOC) and Dewey Decimal System (DDS), the “non-traditional” Brian Deer Classification System was seen as a preferable choice by staff as it fit the overall mandate of Aanischaaukamikw and was ultimately selected. Brian Deer created the Brian Deer Classification System (BDSC) in the 1970s in British Columbia in collaboration with the National Indian Brotherhood, which is now known as the Assembly of First Nations. The BDSC is a subject-based classification that is highly modifiable to work with Indigenous collections. The classification system takes a “bottom up” approach using language and naming systems that are in the local dialect rather than assigning Anglophone/Francophone names. Due to its flexibility, the BDSC allows subject-based indigenous libraries, like the one at Aanischaaukamikw, to add subjects and categories to ensure that the classification system fits the collection rather than trying to make the collection fit into a set structure such as the Library of Congress (LOC) or the Dewey Decimal System (DDS). For example, the language of the BDSC sets a superb standard for the incorporation of traditional community names of people and places, a far cry from the traditional Western systems more widely used in North American libraries today. In a 2004 unpublished paper, librarian Holly Tomren wrote that BDSC was “underdeveloped and needs expansion in several subject areas” (Tomren 2003). However, since this time much work has been done, notably in British Columbia at the Union of British Columbia Indian Chiefs Resource Centre, to expand the classification system. Their document, UBCIC Resources Centre Classification Plan, was instrumental in creating a Québec version of Brian Deer for Aanischaaukamikw (Union of British Columbia Chiefs Resource Centre 2014). Notably, the classification plan included “Implementation Guidelines”, that were useful to ACCI staff tailoring the system to the library as required. Using UBCIC’s classification plan as a starting point, ACCI staff were able to create their own classification plan for the ACCI library. Along with some minor changes to allow the document to focus on Québec, ACCI also made a few large changes to their version of the plan including the addition of “Anthropology” and “Archaeology” sections to accommodate the library’s particular collection. Due to the limited resources available and the few case studies about the challenges associated with the process, the implementation of the BDSC has not been entirely seamless. Aanischaaukamikw hopes to fully document its process in accessible forums such as the ACCI Blog to show other libraries that the BDSC can be realised and adapted for many other institutions.



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Archive The archive collects and preserves material of permanent historical and cultural value of Eeyou Istchee represented by records, photographs, journals, maps, scrapbooks, audio/video, and electronic records. The collection focuses on material relating to culture, language, and traditional pursuits donated by community members, scholars, artists, cultural organizations, and Cree entities. The Aanischaaukamikw archive also holds the permanent corporate records of ACCI. The archive is open to the community as well as to researchers interested in learning more about Eeyou Istchee. Currently the collection has a primarily an academic focus. Early donors to the archive include such researchers as Dr Richard Preston, Dr Harvey Feit, Dr Marguerite MacKenzie, and Dr Cath Oberholtzer, all of whom have worked and, in several cases, lived with the James Bay Cree. One of the primary reasons that academic donors are so prominent in the collection is their familiarity with archival research and the role that archives have in the preservation of culture and, in the case of the Crees specifically, the role of documents in legal proceedings and land-right disputes. Furthermore, these academics share the assertion that the work conducted should stay close to the communities they lived and worked with and by placing these records in a recognized institution, they ensure the works’ physical safety. Other collections donated to the archive include the documents of community members such as Waswanipi Elder Jonny Grant, the Trapper family, and nonCree community members such as Reverend Hugo Muller and Rick Cuciurean, both of whom lived in Cree communities for many years. The Aanischaaukamikw archive is a new creation and many potential collections have found their way to other archives since the 1960s. Worried about their conservation, academics, artists, and others affiliated with the Eeyou/Eenou placed their collections with museums and universities to ensure that the records were properly maintained. Aanischaaukamikw archivists are working to make relationships with organizations that house various collections about the Eeyou Istchee. While it will not be possible to bring all of these collections to Aanischaaukamikw, having professional connections and open dialogue with the institutions will help ACCI to connect with Eeyou Istchee material, wherever it is held. Community collections are now the focus of the Aanischaaukamikw archive. As many people lived off the land well into the 1970s, there are few traditional and/or conventional archival sources. There are diaries from the collection of Dr Harvey Feit, but, for example, one might be able to find family calendars that were kept at camp to help keep track of Sundays or visitors. Access to these materials is currently restricted to family use, but researchers from the community

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and outside researchers can appeal to the archives for access in certain circumstances. In these cases ACCI will contact the families of the people who created the diaries to ask for their permission to use these materials. Such diaries represent traditional ways of hunting and living on the land, and the transfer of this knowledge will be considered on a case by case basis. Photographs are limited but some families invited visitors to come to their camps, and community photographs might be found in academic research, government, or church records. When it comes to older textual documents, like many other Canadian Aboriginal nomadic groups, the Cree of Eeyou Ichee find that their photographic past is often held by the Hudson’s Bay Company, the Government of Canada, the province of Québec, or by various church organizations. A community outreach program for the archive is to be implemented this coming year that will further connect Aanischaaukamikw to the community by inviting them in to share their families’ histories. The archive will be digitizing local photography and, in some cases, keeping digital copies of the material that is scanned. Community newsletters, scrapbooks, diaries, and other material will help shape the archival collection to better reflect the lives of the people that the institute represents.

Future Dynamicism To establish itself as an inter-generationally relevant resource to both the Eeyou/ Eenou communities of Eeyou Istchee and researchers from outside the region, Aanischaaukamikw is striving to become a dynamic community project as well as a cultural institute. By working with all of the communities Aanischaaukamikw represents to support them in their own endeavours and with researchers outside of the community, ACCI will maximize the impact that it will continue to have and will catalyse further cultural programmes and research in Eeyou Istchee. Working with and supporting the independent projects of all of the Eeyou Istchee communities is a vital part of the Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute. Several community heritage projects exist in all nine of the communities, many of which predate the establishment of ACCI. Aanischaaukamikw is not meant to override these projects but rather to work as a central hub of knowledge and expertise for each of the communities to utilize as they desire. Staff within the Collections Department alone, as acting museum, library, and archive professionals, can offer advice, provide training, and match professional standards with the practical needs of each project. To support these individual community projects, between 2012 and 2013, Aanischaaukamikw staff visited all the commu-



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nities in a professional capacity to survey the different collections and to offer assistance to community members caring for them. As expected, advice on proper storage was the most common although other concerns included digitisation and access. Aanischaaukamikw staff were able to give site assessments at this time and have remained in contact with those progressing the community projects. In 2014, Aanischaaukamikw formally welcomed its first researchers. As one component of the institutional mandate, working with researchers will continue to be a large part of Aanischaaukamikw once the museum, library, and archives are better established. However, as with many Aboriginal communities, there are some reservations due to some non-ideal historical precedents. Finding a balance that works for the communities and doesn’t impede research, therefore, will be a major task for the coming years and one that Aanischaaukamikw will continue to mediate. All potential researchers at ACCI will be asked to sign a research agreement acknowledging that the people of Eeyou Istchee hold continue copyright on all traditional knowledge. They will also be asked to respect all local customs and values while they do their research.

Conclusion Since 1971, Eeyou Istchee has undergone substantive changes due to hydroelectric development, shifting political environments, and the growth of several Cree entities. However, due to the Eeyou/Eenou focus on the continuity of their culture, the input and inspiration provided by the communities’ Elders, and the development and ownership of the ACCI, a continuing legacy has been ensured for generations to come. The impact that Aanischaaukamikw has already made to local communities and visitors has been tangible. A cultural hub has undeniably been established in Oujé-Bougoumou that because of its institutional mandate and indigenous ownership will continue to adapt and find the best ways to serve its community and inform others about the life and ways of the Cree. Manifesting consistently through its museum, library, and archive, as well as dynamically through outreach, programming, and special events, Aanischaaukamikw encapsulates and protects the long history of the Cree in Eeyou Istchee while looking forward to its exciting future.

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References Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute. 2006. Statement of Programs. Oujé-Bougoumou , Québec, Canada: Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute. Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute. 2015a. “About the Aanischaaukamikw Foundation.” http://www.creeculturalinstitute.ca/en/foundation/about-the-aanischaaukamikw-foundation/. Accessed on 12 January 2015. Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute. 2015b.“History.” http://www.creeculturalinstitute. ca/en/about/history/. Accessed on 12. January 2015. Canada. 1975. An Act Approving the Agreement Concerning James Bay and Northern Québec, CQLR c C-67. http://canlii.ca/t/hbzv. Accessed on 5 February 2016. Faries, Emily and Sarah Pashagumskum. 2002. A History of Québec and Canada. Chisasibi, Québec, Canada: Cree School Board. Grand Council of the Crees of Québec. n.d. Our Way of Life. Val d’Or, Québec, Canada: Cree Regional Authority. Grand Council of the Crees of Québec. 2014. “About the Grand Council of the Crees of Québec.” http://www.gcc.ca/gcc/whogcc.php. Accessed on 12 December 2014. Kanatewat et al v. The James Bay Development Corporation. 1975. 1 S.C.R. 48-55. https:// scc-csc.lexum.com/scc-csc/scc-csc/en/item/5300/index.do. Accessed on 27 February 2016. Oujé-Bougoumou Band Council. 2015. “Awards of Excellence.” http://www.ouje.ca/content/ awards.php. Accessed 15 on January 2015. Tomren, Holly. 2003. “Classification, Bias, and American Indian Materials.” San Jose State University, Unpublished Manuscript. Available from http://ailasacc.pbworks.com/f/ BiasClassification2004.pdf. Accessed on 29 January 2015. Union of British Columbia Indian Chiefs Resource Centre. UBCIC Resource Centre Classification Plan. http://www.ubcic.bc.ca/files/PDF/UBCICClassification.pdf. Weizman, Sandra. 2010. Exhibition Storyline for Aachiiwashchaanuuch: Reclaiming the Ways of Our Ancestors, 2010. Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute fonds, Aanischaaukamikw. Cree Cultural Institute, Oujé-Bougoumou, Québec, Canada.

Kauwela Valeho-Novikoff

17 Nā Kahu ‘Ike Hawaiʻi Stewards of Hawaiian Knowledge

Ōlelo Ho’ākāka (Introduction) What happens when western science wants to own and manipulate the Hawaiian ancestors? Hāloanakalaukapalili (Hāloa) is the stillborn offspring of Wākea and Ho‘ohōkūkalani. This fetus was buried in the earth and from it came the kalo plant. The kalo is the staple food of the Hawaiians and have nourished many generations since. (Ritte 2007). Hāloa preceded the first-born human being in the Hawaiian cosmos. Hāloa is the hiapo (elder sibling), deserving of the utmost respect equal to the reverence that should be given to every single living creature, plant, and life force that have come before humankind. In 2005, the College of Tropical Agriculture and Human Resources [CTAHR], under the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa, attempted to take out three United States plant patents on a Hawaiian hybridized kalo plant. Hawaiians from all islands convened and marched upon the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa and the Hawaiʻi State legislature and demanded a moratorium against what Hawaiians saw as disrespect for and of the native Hawaiian culture. Recently, during October 2014, the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa and Hilo has moved forward with the construction of the Thirty Meter Telescope [TMT], second-largest telescope in the world, despite vehement public opposition. A major issue regarding this construction is the sacred summit of Mauna Kea, (Mangauil 2015) also referred to as Mauna a Wākea (sacred mountain of sky father, Wākea). While Western academia promotes the manipulation and ownership of Hawaiian sacred things, Hawaiians strive to protect the traditional knowledge and expressions of the ancestors. Librarians have a direct kuleana (responsibility) to protect, maintain, and perpetuate this ‘ike Hawaiʻi (traditional Hawaiian knowledge) for future generations. “Ua lehulehu a manomano ka ‘ikena a ka Hawaiʻi . Great and numerous is the knowledge of the Hawaiians” (Pukui 1983). Hawaiian knowledge is vast. It encompasses the language, origins, the mo‘olelo or history, ‘oli (chant), hula (dance), music, sciences, navigation, literature, religion, education, law and society, politics, lā‘au lapa‘au (medicinal), and cultural practices, as well as all numerous other forms of knowledge. Indigenous epistemology is knowledge through experience that is individual or collective. Hawaiian knowledge systems are ways of being with a sense of place over generations and life times (Meyer

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2003). Historian Samuel Kamakau reminds us, “Ka po‘e kahiko (the people of old) were rich in possessions; they found their riches and provisions in the natural resources of the land. Their skill and knowledge are proven by their works” (Maly and Maly 2003, 51). It is through ‘ike or knowledge that Hawaiians are in touch with their natural surroundings, thus, “close observation of the elements around us is crucial to our existence” (Oliveira 2014, 95). The renewed interest in indigenous knowledge systems is worldwide. Additionally, there is an African proverb and Alaskan saying that goes, “When an elder dies, a library burns down” (Maina 2012, 14). It is a call to library and information science (LIS) professionals to be involved in the preservation of traditional knowledge. Here in Hawaiʻi , it is beneficial to know, understand, and immerse oneself in these Hawaiian knowledge systems. The Hawaiian ways of knowing should be incorporated, embedded, and integrated into the various aspects of librarianship, proposing Hawaiian Librarianship as a vital and distinct practice for the 21st century. According to Dr Loriene Roy, Professor at the School of Information at the University of Texas at Austin and an Anishinabe, enrolled on the White Earth Reservation, a member of the Minnesota Chippewa Tribe, the development of international indigenous librarianship has been stirring since the late 1990s (Roy, Bhasin, and Arriaga 2011). During 1993 the United Nations General Assembly discussed and looked at the problems indigenous communities face. One of these issues was the protection of traditional knowledge, which is dependent upon the indigenous people’s efforts to express their views via declarations and submissions to the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO), the World Trade Organization (WTO), and the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) (Maina 2012). WIPO’s mandate is the promotion of the protection of intellectual property (IP) worldwide. Traditional knowledge is identified by the various indigenous groups. These local communities should decide their definition of their own knowledge, innovations, cultures, and practices. Interestingly, WIPO’s Report on Fact-Finding Missions on Intellectual Property and Traditional Knowledge (1998–1999) (WIPO 2001) did not include Hawaiʻi in either the South Pacific region or the North America region. Hawaiʻi was neither considered nor covered. On 3–5 October 2003, Kanaka Maoli of Ka Pae ‘Āina Hawaiʻi (Hawaiians of the Hawaiian Archipelago) convened at Ka ‘Aha Pono – Native Hawaiian Intellectual Property Rights Conference at Queen Lili‘uokalani’s Paoakalani residence and collectively created the Paoakalani Declaration. The declaration outlines the Kanaka Maoli (Hawaiian) worldview, cultural principles, Hawaiian inherent right of self-determination, traditional knowledge, cultural expressions, and art forms. During the same time, the International Indigenous Librarians’ Forum (IILF) was established as a means for indigenous peoples to come together under the



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first Forum’s theme, “Toi te kupu, toi te mana, toi te whenua. Affirming the knowledge and values of indigenous peoples in the age of information” (Roy 2000, 19). IILF adopted a preliminary definition of indigenous people as “those who have become minority peoples in their places of cultural origin” (Roy 2000, 19). Librarianship practices have internationally converged upon this notion to protect traditional knowledge. The International Federation of Library Associations and Institutions (IFLA) is the international body that serves as the global voice for the LIS profession. In 2012, IFLA’s Guidelines for Professional Library/ Information Educational Programs were revised. These guidelines set the framework for the objectives and principles of the library and information education programs worldwide. Specifically, Guideline Two – Curriculum Elements – that includes the objective to “Embed indigenous knowledge and ways in the curriculum, while a core element of the LIS curriculum should include awareness of Indigenous Knowledge Paradigms” (Smith, Hallam, and Ghosh 2012, 1). Further, the guidelines give the following scope for Core Element 11: Awareness of Indigenous Knowledge, as follows: –– Understanding the importance, diversity or structure of indigenous knowledge; –– The influence that Indigenous processes, philosophies and language is intrinsic in indigenous knowledge frameworks; –– The importance of using Indigenous research methodologies when investigating the information resources and services delivery needs of Indigenous clients (Smith, Hallam, and Ghosh 2012, 1).

‘O ke kula nui o Hawaiʻi mā Mānoa (The University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa) “Ike i ke au nui me ke au iki. Know the big current and the little current; is wellversed” (Pukui 1983). The University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa (UH Mānoa) campus is located on O‘ahu island and is situated in the urban district known as Honolulu. The City and County of Honolulu is approximately 950,000 of the total 1.2 million people who live on the Hawaiian islands. UH Mānoa is located in the residential area known as Mānoa and is the flagship, Research I, land-grant, seagrant, and sky-grant campus of the University of Hawaiʻi System that includes UH Mānoa; two four-year institutions, the University of Hawaiʻi at Hilo and UH – West O‘ahu; and seven community colleges. The Mānoa campus is an urban commuter campus that hosts approximately 20,000 undergraduate and graduate students and is governed by a 15-member Board of Regents, the state’s sole public uni-

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versity system. Significantly, the UH System is the primary pathway for island students to access higher education. UH Mānoa carries out advanced research and extends services to the local community and beyond. UH Mānoa offers more than 200 degree-earning programmes. Sixty-nine percent of UH Mānoa students are undergraduates, 57% are of Asian or Pacific Islander ancestry, and 56% are women. As a public research university, UH Mānoa maintains an active program of scholarship related to Hawaiʻi ’s special natural and cultural surroundings. The University serves as both a focus of preservation and conservation and a source of new knowledge. UH Mānoa’s special distinction derives from its Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific orientation and unique location that have created an esteemed international reputation for the University. As the flagship campus in Hawaiʻi Nei, the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa promotes academic and research excellence while incorporating important host cultural values and principles that are reflective of our ancestral ways of knowing. Our Native Hawaiian cultural values and principles are incorporated into the University of Hawaiʻi ’s Strategic Plan, fostering and supporting a learning environment that is beyond the classroom and engaging with the community that is integral to the Hawaiian culture. Per Hawaiʻi ’s unique history, the mission of the University is committed to its historic trust to the Hawaiians and serves to strengthen and reinforce the Native Hawaiian values of kuleana (responsibility), ‘ohana (family), and ahupua‘a (land division from uplands to the sea) (University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa 2011). Every department at UH Mānoa has a responsibility to be physically and conceptually grounded in Native Hawaiian knowledge within their departmental strategic goals. Hawaiʻi nuiākea School of Hawaiian Knowledge’s (HSHK) department is naturally fit to fulfil the University’s overall vision and mission. As part of the larger university, Hawaiʻi nuākea is evaluated and accredited by the Western Association of Schools and Colleges (WASC). The current WASC accreditation is reaffirmed through Spring 2021. In addition, during March 2013, HSHK participated in the World Indigenous Nations Higher Education Consortium [WINHEC] accreditation process that affirms the educational rights of indigenous people and protects and preserves indigenous culture and intellectual property rights. HSHK received a ten-year accreditation from WINHEC.



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Hawaiʻi nuiākea School of Hawaiian Knowledge (HSHK) “E lawe i ke a‘o a mālama, a e ‘oi mau ka na‘auao. He who takes his teachings and applies them increases his knowledge” (Pukui 1983). The faculty at Hawaiʻi nuiākea brings in nā mea Hawaiʻi (Hawaiian things) from the Hawaiian perspective making the curriculum very original, unique, and found nowhere else in the world. The scope of my work as the librarian at HSHK is to support this unique Hawaiian curriculum by acquiring, organizing and providing access to Hawaiian language and culture resources for researchers, faculty, students, staff, and promoting engagement with the community. Just as important, is my responsibility to mentor and nurture the next generation of librarians coming out of HSHK. HSHK is made up of Kawaihuelani Center for Hawaiian Language (KCHL), Kamakakūokalani Center for Hawaiian Studies, Ka Papa Lo‘i o Kānewai, and Native Hawaiian Student Services Kauhale. At KCHL there is an average of 61 Hawaiian language undergraduate majors and 20 masters’ candidates per year. The KCHL faculty number 16 in total plus six lecturers. As for KCHS, there is an average of 138 undergraduate majors and 34 masters’ candidates per year. The KCHS faculty is made up of 14 faculty and four instructors. Kānewai Lo‘i houses two staff positions. Kānewai is a living classroom with Native Hawaiian plants nourished by the Mānoa stream that features Hāloanakalaukapalili, the kalo plant, our hiapo (elder sibling), our ancestor, our mo‘okū’auhau (genealogy), and our beginnings. Kānewai is also a reminder to us of the struggles that existed at the University of Hawaiʻi in establishing a Hawaiian School of Knowledge. The original lo‘is or kalo fields were unearthed by Ho‘okahe Wai Ho‘o‘ulu ‘Āina (Make the Water Flow; Make the Land Flourish) a Hawaiian Studies student organization in the 1980s whose members were frustrated with a Western bibliographic approach to learning Hawaiian culture and language (Ka’ū 1986). They opened up the lo‘i to what it is today. Lastly, Native Hawaiian Student Services Kauhale serves and supports all Native Hawaiian students in every aspect of their educational experience at the UH Mānoa campus and beyond. The Native Hawaiian Student Services Kauhale employs seven faculty and staff positions. There are other Kanaka Maoli (Hawaiian people) working as faculty or in administrative positions in several other departments throughout the UH Mānoa. Some of these departments include Education, Political Science, Law, Public Health, Engineering, Medicine, Nursing, Business, Communication, English, and Music. The Kanaka Maoli Institute workshops are hosted by the Dean of HSHK to bring all Hawaiians together to meet, share ideas, and partner in grant writing,

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interdisciplinary projects to benefit community, as well as, support each other in fulfilling university requirements for tenure and promotion. The comprehensive scope of Hawaiʻi nuiākea School of Hawaiian Knowledge is an example of how students are provided special opportunities for research; discipline-focused learning; outreach and community engagement; Hawaiian, Asian and Pacific studies; as well as opportunities for investigating language acquisition and use in diverse cultural settings. UH Mānoa is positioned to be among the world’s leading indigenous-serving institutions. According to one of the recent WINHEC recommendations, “Hawaiʻi nuiākea has the potential to serve as the face of UH Mānoa and thus transform indigenous education not only in Hawaiʻi and the USA, but across the world” (Barnhardt et al 2013, 19).

Nā Waihona o Laka me Lono (The Repository of Laka and Lono) “Ka waihona o ka na‘auao. The repository of learning” (Pukui 1983). Nā Waihona o Laka me Lono Resource Center is a special library in that the collection and services presently serve the students, faculty, staff, and community at Kamakakūokalani Center for Hawaiian Studies, Kānewai Lo‘i Cultural Resource Center, Kawaihuelani Center for Hawaiian Language, and Native Hawaiian Student Services-Kauhale, the four school communities under  Hawaiʻi nuiākea  School of Hawaiian Knowledge (HSHK). The library is open Monday through Friday from 8:30 a.m. – 4:30 p.m. with flexible hours built in so that the librarian may attend classes, workshops, conferences, meetings, and engage with the community. Technically, the librarian is solely responsible for the function of the library. Housed in the library is an Educational Technology Curriculum (ETEC) Specialist, two graduate assistants that work for the ETEC Specialist, and one information technology graduate assistant who works for Hawaiʻi nuiākea’s Dean’s office. The collection consists of approximately 10,000 books, pamphlets, journals, government reports, land inventories, and other resources that are part of the physical collection at Laka me Lono Library. The printed matter is organized by the Library of Congress (LOC) Classification System as per the University’s Voyager catalogue and shelved accordingly into three distinct sections: (1) Hawaiian Collection; (2) Pacific Collection; (3) American/World Collection. The library is purposely not equipped with an electronic circulation system. The collection at Laka me Lono does not circulate due to the collection size, budget, lack of staff, and the availability of digital resources. It should be mentioned that there are two larger libraries on campus, the Hamilton and Sinclair Libraries, that fully circulate their



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collections via the Voyager circulation system, not to mention the inter-library loan consortium participation. Exploring options to electronically automate and allow for the library circulation to occur for Nā Waihona o Laka me Lono Resource Center is being considered. The Master’s in Hawaiian Studies, Master’s in Hawaiian Language candidates and HSHK faculty members are permitted to sign out resource items, usually for the duration of their research or instruction. Although the collection items are not readily listed on UHM’s Voyager catalogue, the collection items are processed using the same description, subject analysis, classification, and machine-readable cataloguing formats (MARC) that appear on UHM’s Voyager catalogue record. Library services also extend out to the 20,000-UHM-member student body who often come to the library for reference services. Community members are also welcome to our library. The UHM campus offers wireless connectivity so patrons may come into the library and use their personal laptops, cell phones, and Ipads for Internet access. The library has one Mac desktop computer and a printer for patron access and printing needs. As part of the WINHEC report recommendations, it stated that the Laka me Lono Resource Center/Library at HSHK, “Be converted into a primary repository for all published and multi-media materials pertinent to Kanaka Maoli (Hawaiians) a single and centralized source of knowledge ranging from history, culture, health, law, education, and social programs will enable students and faculty to economize time leading to enhanced productivity. A single location will also facilitate better cross-referencing and greater analytic process” (Barnhardt et al 2013, 20). This can be possible especially with HSHK’s department’s digital repository, the Knowledge Well, run by OCLC CONTENTdm software.

Nā Kahu ‘Ike Hawaiʻi – Stewards of Hawaiian Knowledge; Hawaiian Librarianship “Hānau ka ‘āina, hānau ke ali‘i, hānau ke kanaka. Born was the land; born were the chiefs, born were the common people. The land, the chiefs, and the commoners belong together” (Pukui 1983). The University of Hawaiʻi , Hawaiʻi nuiākea School of Hawaiian Knowledge, and Library and Information Science programme belong together. The broad aspects of librarianship as we know it today include: –– collection development; –– bibliographic control; –– public and reference services;

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instructional services; administration and management; information technology and library automation, and other creative contributions to UH Mānoa and to the community (University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa 2015).

Usually in a large library such as Hamilton Library at the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa, each aspect of librarianship is compartmentalized into separate departments with librarians specializing in a particular task; for example, those librarians who are in the cataloguing department will only work on cataloguing the resources. Since HSHK library is a special collection centred on the Hawaiian Studies curriculum, librarian work based out of HSHK finds the librarian covering all seven aspects of these librarianship duties that are reviewed for contract renewal and tenure and promotion while practising the indigenous knowledge paradigms as reflected in the IFLA curriculum Guidelines for Professional Library Educational Programs as listed in the introduction. Being in the Hawaiian Studies department lends the work to naturally take on a Hawaiian contextual element to it. Collection development must enhance and support the programme that you are collecting for. Depending on funds available, collection in the Hawaiian Studies department is based around the curriculum that is taught. Some of the areas of expertise in collection development are knowledge of library resources, procedures, and techniques relevant to collection development activities; knowledge of the world of publishing and its distribution channels; effectiveness in obtaining needed library materials as expeditiously as possible, through purchase, exchange agreements, interlibrary loan, or other methods; ability to develop and maintain the collection in subject fields through on-going and critical review of relevant literature; and proficiency in languages or subject knowledge related to the University programmes (University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa 2015). These abilities are indicative of the western academy with the assumption that the resources collected for the curriculum are physical resources. This is not necessarily true for the Hawaiian culture, for Hawaiian collections have mo‘olelo (stories) that serve as the record of the history and are still being passed down orally. Kūpuna ‘ike (elder knowledge) is also preserved and passed down through audio, video, archived books, journals, diaries, manuscripts, legal documents, and map collections. Bibliographic Control deals with the library’s catalogues, files, and tools that provide access to the collections. Areas of expertise related to bibliographic control include knowledge of an academic discipline or advanced specialization in one or more subject, format, or language fields; skill in applying national and international standards to the description of library materials and holdings in all



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subjects, languages, and formats, and effectiveness in interpreting various catalogues and other finding tools to library users (University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa 20154). Catalogued Hawaiian resources have often times been considered a great misnomer. In order to get to the resource, the right metadata should be entered in the various fields in the back end by the cataloguer. If the cataloguer does not share the worldview of those who will access the Hawaiian resources, the patron may never find the materials needed to complete his/her research. For example, the Library of Congress subject heading for The Queen’s Story by Lili‘uokalani was recently corrected on a catalogue description that read “Revolution of 1893” to “The Illegal Overthrow of the Hawaiian Kingdom”. With due respect to the Hawaiians and their knowledge, the cataloguer for Hawaiian material must come from a Hawaiian worldview. UHM has also moved toward open access (OA) whereby it has a licence to any faculty members’ scholarly articles completed after its adoption. The articles are posted in the Scholarspace digital repository; however, faculty can go through a process to opt out. Besides this, UHM’s Library and Information Science Master’s degree programme has offered LIS 611, that surveys the core of intellectual freedom and promotes Western law in relation to patron rights, censorship, freedom to read, and access rights. There is a distinct clash and controversy with Western intellectual property law and free market versus Kanaka determining and retaining the rights to Hawaiian traditional knowledge consistent with a Hawaiian worldview and the right to protect it from exploitation. Not all traditional Hawaiian knowledge and information should be accessible, whether the information is digitized or not. Nakata et al. point this out in that, “Indigenous peoples are questioning and contesting ownership and access issues with respect to material that documents their lives but is legally owned by others, including those materials produced in contemporary research in Indigenous communities” (Nakata, Byrne, Nakata and Gardiner 2013, 192). They go on to explain that protocols are important to resolve these issues. There are cultural protocols to follow that go back to Mo‘o and succession. If the information should be with you, it will end up with you. “Mo‘o is a tradition handed down until ultimately reaching the mo‘opuna, the grandchild and recipient of the pūnāwai waiwai [rich repository of wisdom] of our kūpuna [elder]” (Oliveira 2014, 110). Public and reference services promote sharing and utilization of all library resources. Some of the areas of expertise are working effectively with people to provide thorough, efficient, and courteous assistance to patrons; possessing skill in interpreting questions, locating relevant information, or conducting reference interviews; developing knowledge in an academic discipline or an advanced specialization in one or more subject, format, or language fields; and effectively designing search strategies in manual or automated systems (University of

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Hawaiʻi at Mānoa Appendix B 2014). For reference services, Hawaiian librarianship not only requires the librarian to be knowledgeable about the collections at the UH Mānoa, but also the multitude of collections held outside of the UHM system for reference questions vary widely. Some of these collections include the Hawaiʻi State Archives collection, the Mission Homes Museum Library and Archives, the Bishop Museum Research Collections, Department of Land and Natural Resources records, Bureau of Conveyance records, and the Lāna‘i Culture and Heritage Center Collections. The creation of LibGuides specific with Hawaiian resources or curriculum materials embeds the librarian by offering the students and faculty subject pages with an overview of relevant resources for Hawaiian studies and Hawaiian language research. Relationships are pertinent in public and reference services. Academic Hawaiian reference librarianship does not only occur in four walls. More often than not, academic Hawaiian reference librarianship is about connecting people with people, hence, supporting a teaching and learning environment that is beyond the classroom and engaging with the community. In her article “Indigenous Knowledge and Archives: Accessing Hidden History and Understandings”, Lynette Russell points out that trust and relationship building is important when working with indigenous communities. The communities must be involved with, “how their oral traditions and memories should be handled” (Russell 2005, 169). Becvar and Srinivasan push for Community Information Sevices (CIS) projects at the library and suggest (Becvar and Srinivasan 2009, 432) a “Culturally Sensitive Model for Collaborative LIS Research” that includes: –– collaborative methods: research is done with people, rather than on or about them; –– direct indigenous involvement: collaborators are involved at all levels and phases of the research project; –– ensuring appropriateness: steps are taken to appropriately handle sensitive information gathered in the course of the research; –– establishing the ‘right’ kind of research relationship: a research partnership is defined according to what works best for everyone; –– ownership of the project (goals and products): the product has relevant goals, and the ownership of research products is clearly defined. Introducing students to kūpuna is a usual thing. Connecting professors with cultural practitioners on a particular island is also part of the librarians’ reference work. Connecting people with places is part of Hawaiian reference. This requires the HSHK librarian to be approachable, personable, knowledgeable, and cooperative. It is actually connecting people’s ‘uhane (spirit) with each other. It is also about connecting people to places, for places are living, breathing entities as well.



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Instructional services can be in a classroom setting, small group instruction, or individual sessions. It covers the facilitation and teaching of information literacy skills. Information literacy forms the basis for lifelong learning. Information literacy skills requires the researcher to determine the nature and extent of the information needed, to access the needed information effectively and efficiently, to evaluate information and its sources critically while integrating newly selected information, to use information effectively to accomplish a specific purpose, and to use the information ethically and legally. Relationships again are an important factor in this aspect of librarianship. The values of kuleana (responsibility), kōkua (help, support), hō‘ihi (respect), mālama (care) and a‘o (teach, learn), all come into the instructional arena (Pukui and Elbert 1986). It is important to note that a‘o is a reciprocal and facilitative process. Although the librarian teaches, she/he also learns from the patrons, especially in ways to improve her/his teaching craft. A‘o is a humbling act. Administration and management requires the librarian to effectively create an optimum work environment in fulfilling departmental initiatives and library goals. Relationships are also of key importance in this arena. The librarian should demonstrate effective leadership and innovative ability to improve library organization, procedures, services, communication, and staff relationships. Traveling and presenting at conferences, writing grants, serving on campus committees, and managing the fiscal and budgetary responsibilities are directly related to the administration of the library. Working seamlessly with other faculty, librarians, and information specialists on campus is another important part of this category. Interacting with ALOHA, Akahai (patience), Lōkahi (balance), ‘Olu‘olu (pleasant), Ha‘aha‘a (humbleness), and Alaka‘i (lead) is integrated into this work (Kalama 2015). Information technology is vital to the work that a librarian does. This aspect or component of librarianship directly integrates with all the other aspects as previously explained. Information technology is used to communicate, create, conduct, facilitate, present, research, allow resources to be accessible, preserve, archive, store, collect, instruct, file, plan, manage, administer, learn, network, search, retrieve, catalogue, provide services, deliver, contribute, and write. The technology changes on a daily basis and, thus, it is important to keep up with new information technology developments so the various programmes under HSHK and the University can be properly supported. An important component of this aspect of librarianship is that even though digitization somewhat preserves the cultural knowledge, documents history, artifacts, and heritage, the work should be done in collaboration with the indigenous users and communities (Nakata 2014).

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Research, service, and creative contributions are the last portion of a librarian’s duties. This is a catch-all category. Writing articles and manuscripts and serving on community committees are some of the activities that would fall into this aspect of librarianship, however, there is an interest in increasing the number of Kanaka into the LIS programme. Perhaps somewhat outdated, Otis Chadley’s article expresses that minority groups are underrepresented as librarians in the academic and research libraries in the United States (Chadley 1992, 207). The literature suggests policy changes, changes in institutional practices, and changes in the community. This may call for an applied research project. Maina suggests that, “The LIS profession needs to get more involved in the ongoing traditional knowledge protection debate in order to gain further understanding of Indigenous worldviews and pedagogy and establish how traditional knowledge holders understand their knowledge and establish what systems and practices would be helpful in its preservation” (Maina 2012, 25). In this respect, properly trained Native Hawaiian librarians and other Hawaiian knowledge managers should become the guardians of traditional knowledge and the preservation of it. In response to IFLA’s education guidelines and to address the low numbers of underrepresented minority groups working in academic research libraries and the library profession in general, finding ways to increase the number of minority students enrolled in library schools and also increasing the number of minority librarians working in the profession, “Ho‘okele Na‘auao” was born. Ho‘okele Na‘auao is the annual Hawaiian Librarianship symposium bringing together HSHK and the Library and Information Science Program together (Nā Hawaiʻi ʻImi Loa 2014). Serving as advisor and mentor to an LIS graduate student group is part of my kuleana (responsibility). Nā Hawaiʻi ‘Imi Loa is a registered independent organization (RIO) student group made up of Library and Information graduate students (Nā Hawaiʻi ʻImi Loa 2015).1 The group was formed in fall 2012 and most of them have completed their undergraduate work either in Hawaiian Studies or Hawaiian Language. Each year, this amazing, hardworking, and self-motivated group has planned and implemented the Ho‘okele Na‘auao Hawaiian Librarianship symposium. Ideally, through this symposium, it is hoped that building capacity and sustainability is promoted in that Hawaiʻi nuiākea students will eventually choose to do their master’s degree in LIS for the betterment of the lāhui Hawaiʻi (Hawaiian nation). Nakata and others explain quite succinctly stating, “Collaboration and cooperation is essential between Indigenous people and LIS professionals in all stages of practice, from the identification of materials, to developing the means for appropriate Indigenous cultural experts to work in institutions to identify materials, to the development of appropriate systems 1 http://nhil.weebly.com. Accessed on 14 January 2015.



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and processes for managing them, for determining the conditions of access or restriction, to determining how to locate, copy or repatriate materials for local access by the relevant communities, to customizing the technology to suit particular local specificities, to the development of local LIS activities with an indigenous knowledge focus of relevance to the specifics of local communities” (Nakata et al 2005, 18). As a member of Hawaiʻi nuiākea’s school curriculum committee, I have spearheaded the seed idea and brought to the table the discussion of a dual master’s degree between Hawaiʻi nuiākea and UHM’s Library and Information Science programs. The kuleana (responsibility) of Hawaiʻi nuiākea’s school curriculum committee is to encourage new courses, properly review the course proposals, ensure that the courses are capable of being taught, and sending it up the University’s chain to get approved. Although proposed in 2013, the dual master’s degree for Hawaiian Language and LIS along with the dual master’s degree for Hawaiian Studies and LIS have both been vetted and approved for fall 2015 enrolment. These are the first dual degree programmes for Hawaiʻi nuiākea, while LIS has a total of nine dual degree programmes with various other departments, including Law, History, American Studies, and Pacific Island Studies. The outcome of the dual degree programmes between Hawaiʻi nuiākea and LIS would possibly be an interesting study to monitor. This is an indirect way of embedding indigenous knowledge and ways into the LIS curriculum through the Hawaiʻi nuiākea students. It is envisioned that the discussions and work that these dual degreed candidates will bring into the LIS programme can only strengthen the awareness of Hawaiian knowledge paradigms. The tracks or specialty areas that exist within the UHM’s LIS programme are School Library Media Specialist; Academic Librarianship; Archival Studies and Special Collections Librarianship; Hawaiian/Pacific & Asian Resources; Library Automation and Information Technology; Public Librarianship, and Special Librarianship. The Hawaiian/Pacific & Asian Resources is a survey of resources without exclusive focus on Hawaiian knowledge frameworks and traditional ‘ike Hawaiʻi . A proposal for a distinct Hawaiian Librarianship track within UHM’s LIS programme would be a direct and stronger way as to instruct LIS candidates on understanding the importance, diversity or structure of Hawaiian knowledge, processes, philosophies, language, research methodologies, and servicing of indigenous clients.

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Panina Mana‘o (Conclusion) It is evident that there is a need for a Hawaiian Librarianship track within the Library and Information Science program at the UH Mānoa. Along with this hua (idea; seed) for academic applied research is a current development and formation of a Native Hawaiian Librarian Association discussion by recent Library and Information Science graduate students, previous Nā Hawaiʻi ‘Imi Loa organization members who are now in the workforce. The mana (spiritual power) is in motion, continuous and dynamic. The work of Hawaiʻi nuiākea’s Laka me Lono Library will continuously support and embed all traditional principles in fulfilling HSHK’s mission. –– Ua lehulehu a manomano ka ‘ikena a ka Hawaiʻi – Great and numerous is the knowledge of the Hawaiians; –– Ike i ke au nui me ke au iki – Know the big current and the little current; is well-versed; –– E lawe i ke a‘o a mālama, a e ‘oi mau ka na‘auao – He who takes his teachings and applies them increases his knowledge; –– Ka waihona o ka na‘auao – The repository of learning; –– Hānau ka ‘āina, hānau ke ali‘i, hānau ke kanaka – Born was the land, born were the chiefs, born were the common people; The land, the chiefs, and the people need each other. (Hawaiʻinuiākea School of Hawaiian Knowledge 2015, 1). It is in partnership and collaborative projects that HSHK seeks to promote and instill traditional Hawaiian ‘ike into the curricular endeavours of UHM’s LIS programme, producing culturally grounded scholars and practitioners in the librarian field for the preservation and protection of Hawaiian ‘ike for generations to come. The result is cultural revitalization and continuity supporting a strong position for both HSHK and Library and Information Science to be established globally as a model and an indigenous leader. After all, the University of Hawaiʻi, situated atop Hawaiian lands, and mandated as a “Hawaiian Place of Learning” in the University’s mission and values, (University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa 2011, 4–5) clearly sets the ala or path for this to happen. ‘Āmama. Ua noa. Lele wale (The prayer is finished, the taboo is lifted; go, prayer).



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References Barnhardt, Ray, Henrietta Mann, Jon Matsuoka, Wayne Stein, Bentham Ohia and Kate Cherrington. 2013. “Final Report of the WINHEC Accreditation Review Team to the Hawaiʻi nuiākea School of Hawaiian Knowledge” (unpublished report). Becvar, Katherine and Ramesh Srinivasan. 2009. “Indigenous Knowledge and Culturally Responsive Methods in Information Research.” The Library 79(4): 421–441. Chadley, Otis A. 1992. “Addressing Cultural Diversity in Academic and Research Libraries.” College & Research Libraries 53(3): 206–214. Hawaiʻinuiākea School of Hawaiian Knowledge. 2015 “Mission and Guiding Principles,” http:// manoa.hawaii.edu/hshk/about-us/mission-op-2/. Accessed on 14 January 2015. Kalama, Corbett. 2015. “Life in These Islands: A Way of Life and Hope.” Available at http:// web.archive.org/web/20150715220824/http://lifeintheseislands.com/best-of-hawaii. Accessed on 5 February 2016. Ka’ū. 1986. “University of Hawaiʻi , Hawaiian Studies Task Force Report.” http://hilo.hawaii. edu/uhh/hanakahi/documents/KauReport1986.pdf. Accessed on 1 April 2016. Maina, Charles Kamau. “Traditional Knowledge Management and Preservation: Intersections with Library and Information Science.” The International Information & Library Review 44(1): 13–27. Maly, Kepa and Onaona Maly. 2003. “Ka Hana Lawai‘a a Me Nā Ko ‘Ao Nā Kai ‘Ewalu = A History of Fishing Practices And Marine Fisheries of the Hawaiian Islands.” http://www.kumupono. com/Ocean%20Resources/HiPae74_Vol-I_b_reduced.pdf. Accessed on 25 March 2015. Mangauil, Lanakila. 2015. “To Some Native Hawaiians, the Thirty Meter Telescope would Desecrate a Very Sacred Location,” Huffington Post 13 April. http://www.huffingtonpost. com/2015/04/13/hawaii-telescope-protests-tmt-mauna-kea_n_7044164.html. Accessed on 14 April 2015. Meyer, Manulani Aluli. 2003 Ho‘oulu: Our Time of Becoming: Collected Early Writings. Honolulu: ‘Ai Pohaku Press. Nā Hawaiʻi ʻImi Loa. 2014. “Ho‘okele Na‘auao 2014: A Hawaiian Librarianship Symposium,” http://manoa.hawaii.edu/hshk/hookele/. Accessed on 6 January 2015. Nakata, Martin. 2014. “Introduction to the Special Issue: Engaging with Indigenous Knowledge, Culture and Communities.” Australian Academic & Research Libraries 45(2): 78–80. Nakata, Martin, Alex Byrne, Vicky Nakata and Gabrielle Gardiner, 2005. “Libraries, Indigenous Australians and a Developing Protocols Strategy for the Library and Information Sector.” Australian Academic & Research Libraries 36(2): 185–199. Oliveira, Kapā’anaokalāokeola Katrina-Ann Rose-Marie Nākoa. 2014. Ancestral Places: Understanding Kanaka Geographies. Corvallis: Oregon State University Press. Paoakalani Declaration. 2003. “Ka ‘Aha Pono’03: Native Hawaiian Intellectual Property Rights Conference, Waikiki, Hawai ‘i, Oct. 2003.” Reprinted in R. Hokulei Lindsey, “Responsibility with Accountability: The Birth of a Strategy to Protect Kanaka Maoli Traditional Knowledge.” How. LJ 48: 763–771. Pukui, Mary Kawena. 1983. ‘Ōlelo No‘eau: Hawaiian Proverbs & Poetical Sayings. Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press. Pukui, Mary Kawena and Samuel H. Elbert. 1986. Hawaiian Dictionary.Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press.

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Ritte, Walter and Le‘a Malia Kanehe. 2007. “Kuleana No Haloa (Responsibility for Taro): Protecting the Sacred Ancestor From Ownership and Genetic Modification.” In Pacific Genes & Life Patents: Pacific Indigenous Experiences & Analysis of the Commodification & Ownership of Life, edited by Aroha Te Pareake Mead and Steven Ratuva, 130–137. Wellington: Call of the Earth Llamado de la Tierra and the United Nations University Institute of Advanced Studies. Roy, Loriene. 2000. “The International Indigenous Librarians’ Forum: A Professional Life Affirming Event.” World Libraries 10(1/2): 19–30. Roy, Loriene, Anjali Bhasin and Sarah K. Arriaga, eds. 2011. Tribal Libraries, Archives, and Museums: Preserving our Language, Memory, and Lifeways. Lanham: Scarecrow Press. Russell, Lynette. 2005. “Indigenous Knowledge and Archives: Accessing Hidden history and understandings.” Australian Academic & Research Libraries 36(2): 161–171. Smith, Kerry, Gillian Hallam, and S.B. Ghosh on behalf of the Education and Training Section of the International Federation of Library Associations. 2012. “Guidelines for Professional Library Educational Programs.” http://www.ifla.org/publications/guidelines-forprofessional-libraryinformation-educational-programs-2012. Accessed on 11 January 2016. University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa. 2011. “Achieving Our Destiny: The University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa 2011–2015 Strategic Plan”. http://manoa.hawaii.edu/vision/pdf/achieving-ourdestiny.pdf. Accessed on 25 March 2015. University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa. 2015. “Appendix B: Supplemental Guidelines,” https://manoa. hawaii.edu/ovcaa/faculty/tenure_promotion_contract_renewal/pdf/Appendix_B.pdf. Accessed on18 March 2015. World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO). 2001. Intellectual Property Needs and Expectations of Traditional Knowledge Holders. Geneva: World Intellectual Property Organization.

Collence Takaingenhamo Chisita, Alexander M. Rusero and Munyaradzi Shoko

18 L everaging Memory Institutions to Preserve Indigenous Knowledge in the Knowledge Age Case of Zimbabwe

The world over, cultural memory institutions play a critical role in preserving indigenous knowledge and traditional cultural expressions (TCE) in order to prevent national amnesia. A national policy on preservation of indigenous knowledge including TCE is significant in determining the future. This is why it is crucial to invest in the development of viable and vibrant information services. It also explains why even at a global level the aspect of cultural heritage has gained momentum and prominence to the extent of the United Nations tasking one of its agencies, the United Nations Education Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO), to specifically devote its mandate on culture and heritage related issues to it. This chapter will highlight the role of memory institutions in capturing the nation’s indigenous knowledge and TCE. It will also assess the extent to which memory institutions have been useful in sustaining Zimbabwe’s indigenous knowledge and TCE. It will explore the extent to which memory institutions are utilizing linkages to enhance access to indigenous knowledge. This chapter will also examine the role of memory institutions in widening access to indigenous knowledge and cultural expressions. It will also highlight the challenges and opportunities of preserving indigenous knowledge and cultural expressions as the country gears towards a technology-driven knowledge economy. The chapter is based overall on the conviction that there is a need to preserve indigenous knowledge systems. Leveraging memory institutions is the panacea to the socio-economic and political problems bedevilling the African continent in general and the Zimbabwean state in particular.

Introduction Indigenous communities have always relied on endogenous indigenous knowledge systems to cater for their epistemological and ontological needs. Mapara (2012) posits that such knowledge systems were systematically denigrated by col-

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onizers imbued with a positivist and empiricist value system that defined reality in the context of verifiable and measureable things. Kunnie (2001) observed that prior to colonial conquest, indigenous societies of Zimbabwe were practising forms of agriculture that were ecologically balanced, resource-sustainable, and produced the necessary food security. Colonial conquest led to the erosion of indigenous traditions and values; independence raised high hopes to reclaim the lost glory. The dawn of independence triggered an intellectual volte face resulting in a fundamental rethink calling for new mental costumes to relook at a prospective reality that elevates indigenous knowledge. This chapter examines indigenous knowledge as a knowledge system that is in a state of constant flux rather than primordial, hence the dichotomy between ancient and modern indigenous knowledge systems.

Methodology The chapter is largely reflective in its approach, although reference will be made to various reports or surveys as well as a plethora of literature consulted. These documents support a fully-fledged understanding of leveraging memory institutions to preserve indigenous knowledge in the knowledge age with a central focus on Zimbabwe. The chapter, thus, adopted a qualitative research paradigm. Such an approach provides researchers with lived experiences of the real world. Babbie (2003, 281) states that “qualitative field research enables researchers to observe social life in its natural habitat: to go where the action is and watch”. This type of research can produce a richer understanding of social phenomena that can be achieved through other observational methods, provided that the researcher observes in a deliberate, well planned and active way. Creswell (2009, 4) describes qualitative research as “a means for explaining and understanding the meaning individuals or groups ascribe to a social or human problem ... The process of research involves emerging questions ... procedures, data typically collected in the participant’s setting.”

Theoretical Framework It is interesting to note that there appears to be a growing interest in the role of Information Knowledge Systems (IKS) in contributing towards socio-economic transformation. Such developments are evidenced by incorporation of indigenous languages into national constitutions, review of language and cultural



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policies, and national curriculum. Mapara (2012) argues that indigenous knowledge systems have varied dimensions, for example, health, religion, conflict resolution, education (socialisation), medicine, and language theory. This chapter explores the search for an African epistemology and ontology to reposition Africa on the global world map in the advent of global homogenization. The writers are of the opinion that there is need to search for an alternative knowledge system to solve the escalating problems bedevilling the modern world, for example: cancers, violence, crime, conflict, hunger, wars, racism, intolerance, and capitalist-driven greedy consumerism. Chisita (2011) notes that modern science has begun to recognize the constructive role that indigenous knowledge of the local ecosystem can play in the formulation and implementation of sustainable development policies and projects in developing countries. Abidi (1991) views indigenous knowledge systems as an alternative epistemology for the world’s poor and that any development must be premised on such an epistemology. Breidlid (2009) states that IKS pose as an alternative view to narrowly focused scientific disciplines that may neglect the interconnectedness of natural phenomena. Memory institutions face the greatest challenge in the twenty-first century, which is to recognize indigenous knowledge as a unique knowledge system that requires proper and unique systems of management and also to differentiate this knowledge system from Western knowledge. Nakata et al. (2005) argue that there is need to observe how the two intersect as well as strategies to overcome binary tension. The accelerated drive to galvanize and utilize memory institutions to leverage indigenous knowledge is an antithesis to Hegelian philosophy and its cantankerous denigration and denial of indigenous models of development in pre-colonial Africa. It also dispels racist and myopic sentiments in Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness ([1899] 1990). Global cultural diversity contributes towards sustaining sociocultural equilibrium. Indigenous knowledge has helped to foster respect for nature and the environment to ensure food security, health, and education for centuries. Such an appraisal should not be misconstrued as a blind romanticization of an ancient African past. Instead, it is a serious and heartfelt endeavour conducted in the advent of global homogenization by those who wield more power on marginalized indigenous communities through their superimposition of control on language, governance, and economy. The digital environment presents numerous challenges. However, indigenous knowledge is characterized by its oral nature and communal ownership, and this presents challenges for memory workers schooled and imbued with positivist philosophy that is antithetical to and the antithesis of what indigenous knowledge stands for.

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Zimbabwe has various laws meant to protect fundamental rights to culture, IKS, and traditional institutions. Firstly, the supreme law of the country stipulates clauses that compel state institutions and agencies of government to promote and respect cultural values and practices so as to enhance the dignity and equality of Zimbabweans; “The State and all institutions and agencies of government at every level, and all Zimbabwean citizens, must endeavour to preserve and protect Zimbabwe’s heritage” (Zimbabwe 2013, Section 16(1)). Such institutions are required to preserve and protect national heritage, which includes natural resources and culture, as these are all important for the sustenance of local communities’ livelihoods (Zimbabwe 2013, Section 16(2)), and ensure that there is “due respect for the dignity of traditional institutions” (Zimbabwe 2013, Section 16(3)). Furthermore, the state is required to take measures and steps to preserve, protect, and promote IKS, which includes knowledge of medicinal and other properties of plant and animal life possessed by the local community and people (Zimbabwe 2013, Section 16(33)). Zimbabwe’s supreme law recognizes sixteen indigenous languages as official languages, unlike the previous constitution that only designated Shona, English, and Ndebele as official languages. Language is critical to the preservation of indigenous knowledge because, from a sociocultural perspective, it is a key component of culture. This resonates well with the postulations of one of Zimbabwe’s great literature icons, Dambudzo Marechera, who once retorted, “Language is like water. You can drink it. You can swim in it. You can flow to the sea in it. You can evaporate and become invisible with it” (Marechera 1990, 34). Viriri (2003) posits that the promotion of indigenous languages will ultimately contribute significantly towards a culturally inclusive society. The author further emphasises culture’s role in solving problems within society. Indigenous knowledge is transmitted language, hence the need to revisit language policy and planning as a way to promote and protect indigenous languages and ways of life. There are other laws that also support indigenous knowledge as highlighted below. The National Archives of Zimbabwe was founded through an Act of Parliament in 1935 and operates under the National Archives Act of Zimbabwe 1985. The Archives is the official custodian of the country’s cultural heritage. This role is made possible through a legal instrument that empowers the Director to acquire and preserve records for posterity. Waters (1997, 15) states that a “society depends on the quality of knowledge of its own past and any deliberate or accidental falsification of such a priceless heritage will be detrimental to survival ...” Zimbabwe is one of the countries in Sub-Saharan Africa whose archival legislation dates back to the colonial era but has been revised to suit the post-independence dispensation. The National Archives Act (Zimbabwe 1985a) prohibits the removal of public archives or public records from Zimbabwe and it also ensures



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the protection and preservation of historical records by forbidding the destruction of such records without the consent of the Minister of Home Affairs. Legislation is essential because it provides the National Archives with legal foundation to legally and professionally deal with records and archives of public entities. It also covers the legal aspects of destruction and the role of the national archives in relationship to private records, historical manuscripts, and legal deposit. The Archives’ mission is to acquire, preserve, and provide access to documentation in whatever format that reflects the legal and historical record of Zimbabwe’s past and present. The archive collaborates with key stakeholders – content producers, government, publishers, higher education, and the community, among others – in fulfilling its mandate as a memory institution of Zimbabwe. The enactment of the National Library and Documentation Services Act (Zimbabwe 1985b) led to the establishment of the National Library Documentation Services (NLDS) whose mandate is to coordinate, promote, and enhance the development of libraries throughout the country. Libraries have always been viewed as critical agencies for the socio-economic development of the country. The promulgation of the NLDS Act coincided with the decade of socio-economic transformation and nation building since the country had just attained independence after decades of colonial rule. The NLDS started on a good note embarking on grandiose programmes to build libraries and cultural houses, for example, the Murewa Cultural House. The NLDS Act defines a cultural house as a multipurpose institution meant to provide for the informational, recreational, and educational needs of the community in which it is situated. However, by the end of the first decade after independence, the economy faced a downturn culminated by the government’s engagement of the Bretton Woods institutions that led to the adaptation of the Economic Structural Adjustment Programme (ESAP). This had an adverse effect on development projects since the International Monetary Fund conditions demanded that government should cut down on social spending resulting in schools, libraries, archives, and health sectors being adversely affected. The situation was worsened by a continued economic downturn culminating in the hyperinflationary environments of 2008–2009. The Cultural Policy of Zimbabwe (Zimbabwe Ministry of Education, Sport and Culture 2007) takes cognizance of the critical role that libraries, archives, and related institutions play in promoting and sustaining the country’s cultural heritage. This policy covers the works of libraries, galleries, archives, the arts, music, customs, religion, and traditional leaders. This is against a colonial background anchored on a cantankerous and vituperative scheme to denigrate anything indigenous. Kunnie (2000) calls for modern African governments to do their utmost towards uncovering, recovering, and re-appropriating IKS and supporting indigenous practitioners. This is especially needed now as the forces of

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globalization are hovering over the cultural horizon and threatening to suffocate anything indigenous in the name of homogenization. The provisions of national cultural policies should be in sync with international policies and declarations, for example, the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People (UNDRIP) with reference to the rights to cultural identity and self-determination (UN General Asembly 2007). Memory institutions are pivotal to the African resurgence and repositioning of the continent on the global knowledge map amidst threats of cultural homogenisation. The Cultural Policy of Zimbabwe reiterates the need “... to rekindle customs, values and those of our norms that are capable of laying a solid foundation for the resuscitation of the spirit of respect, integrity, tolerance, compassion, unhu/ Ubuntu (humanism) and at the same time fostering natural pride ... so as to promote national identity which will enable the nation to adopt those global values that they would have assessed to have meaning in their Zimbabwean lives. It is also important to educate our people about such values and family symbols such as relationships and totems” (Zimbabwe Ministry of Education, Sport and Culture 2007, 12). The full potential of indigenous people can only be realized through incorporating indigenous culture into the mainstream socio-economic and political agenda. Memory institutions as cultural entities should be on the forefront in leveraging indigenous knowledge alongside other knowledge systems. This implies a changeover from an elitism and anachronism that shows total disregard for those in a state of marginalization and deprivation.

Libraries and Archives and Legal Deposit Made (1988) highlights the legal mandate of the National Archives of Zimbabwe as a “legal deposit centre for the country’s intellectual and artistic heritage” in accordance with the provisions of the Printed Publications Act. It is mandatory for publishers under the Act to deliver books published in Zimbabwe to the Directors of the National Archives and NLDS. The legal deposit of non-print material, including sound and audio visuals, is made possible through the Broadcasting Services Act (Zimbabwe 2001). Section 41(b) of the Act stipulates that publishers “... provide a copy of each of its programmes free of charge to the National Archives”. The National Archives Act of Zimbabwe is responsible for the storage and preservation of public archives and public records. The National Archives of Zimbabwe also houses material on the Southern African and Sub-Saharan region that explain or depict the history, development, and other aspects of the country. The National Archives of Zimbabwe serves as



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the national bibliographic centre of Zimbabwe responsible for the publication of the Zimbabwe National Bibliography (ZNB) and the administration of the International Standard Book Number (ISBN) scheme. Genge (2008) notes that the Bulawayo Public Library also serves as a legal deposit of printed materials. It is the oldest public library with a historic reference collection dating as far back as the beginning of the twentieth century. Memory institutions give voice to voiceless indigenous people through developing collections that reflect their experiences as indigenous people and using technology to create electronic records of such cultures. This is seen in records of oral traditions or the rich African art of conversation brought alive through story-telling and inter-generational and intercultural dialogue.

International Corporation for Convergence Paul Otlet (1934) predicted the concept of convergence as a reality. The authors envisage convergence of memory institutions into a seamless network enabling users to interact simultaneously irrespective of time and space. The second half of the twentieth century resulted in significant developments in the form of an information and communication technologies (ICTs) revolution that ultimately has changed how content is created, exchanged, stored, organized, accessed, and retrieved. The International Federation of Library Associations and Institutions (IFLA) and the Bibliothèque nationale de France co-hosted the first meeting of the international associations for the cultural heritage sector to advance the convergence agenda from within the Libraries, Archives, Museums, Monuments and Sites (LAMMS) initiative1 at the non-governmental organizations (NGOs) level. Globally, IFLA, in collaboration with the International Council on Archives (ICA), the International Council of Museums (ICOM), the International Council on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS), and the Co-ordinating Council of Audiovisual Archives Associations (CCAAA), have enduring relationships of co-operation and are resolved to strengthen possibilities of co-operation between their organizations in those areas where libraries, archives, and museums have mutual interests and activities. The areas of convergence encompass copyright and intellectual property rights issues, protection and recovery of cultural heritage worldwide, preservation, collection security, digitization, the development of global digital libraries and standards, and information literacy. 1 http://www.ifla.org/lamms. Accessed on 3 March 2016.

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Memory Institutions and Indigenous Knowledge: Blurring Boundaries Memory institutions are critical in leveraging indigenous knowledge. Ogundipe (2005, 15) states that memory institutions should be on the forefront of indigenous knowledge systems through reconfiguring space into L’arbre à palabre or “the traditional tree under which the village gathers”. Dempsey (2000) views libraries, archives, and museums as memory institutions whose duty is to provide access to information and shape shared cultural heritage of the society. Memory institutions fall within the realm of information science that by nature is concerned with the processes, procedures, and techniques involved in contemporary information storage, access, and retrieval. Memory institutions are sometimes characterized as storehouses and reservoirs to be tapped for many different purposes from education, recreation, information, knowledge to entertainment, and are seen as essential to the free flow of knowledge and the preservation of cultural and intellectual memory and strengthening social cohesion through socially inclusive policies. Dempsey (2000, 47) views libraries, museums and archives as “memory institutions” constituting “an important part of the civic fabric, woven into people’s working and imaginative lives and into the public identity of communities, cities and nations.” The author further states that memory institutions manage cultural and intellectual records and facilitate access to the memory of peoples; communities, institutions, and individuals; the scientific and cultural heritage; and the products throughout time of human imagination, craft, and learning. Dupont (2007, 13) argues that libraries, archives, and museums can be grouped conceptually around the theme of memory because they all exist to “make a better future by helping us remember and understand the past.” Trant (2009, 369) acknowledges the pervasive nature of the concept of memory institution: “The memory institution ... has captured the imagination of policy-makers as a powerful metaphor for the social role of libraries, archives and museums.”

Galleries, Libraries, Archives, and Museums (GLAM) in the Context of Indigenous Knowledge Libraries, archives, and museums have been separated from each other because of the uniqueness of the characteristics of their collections in terms of materials, physical form, nature of associated knowledge, and users. Cathro (2001) and



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Dempsey (2000) concur that arguments for convergence of libraries, museums, and archives are commonly accompanied by a conventional wisdom that brings them under the blanket definition of “memory institutions”. Kirchhoff, Schweibenz and Sieglerschmidt (2008) state that memory institutions in their bricksand-mortar form reflect quite different traditions of documentation and organization even though they share common goals with regard to the preservation and presentation of cultural heritage. Collections, services, and procedures as well as use of space in memory institutions in developing countries were configured and premordialised during colonial rule hence the call for radical change and realignment to cater to African indigenous culture. Featherstone (2006) views the classification and storage typical of archival work as more flexible than the ordering methods employed by libraries. The author further distinguishes between the alignment of large quantities of documents in record series from the item-level description and indexing of library items. This validates the view that archives holdings are determined by the principles of provenance unlike libraries that store collective memory in a concrete, pre-existing form. Curators assume the role of intermediaries of issues of historical significance through interpreting aspects of material evidence from the past to be retained and represented in meaningful ways for contemporary and future generations. These institutions are classified as a form of media with a focus on the primary use of artifacts and other devices to create meanings for audiences.

Technology and Memory Institutions Cathro (2001) notes that in the contemporary technology-driven age, users require information services that provide integrated access to physical and virtual information resources, collections, items within collections, and information fragments within those items, both commercial and free information resources, both significant and transient information resources, and both local and remote information resources. The proliferation of ICTs in the wider and encompassing field of digital preservation enabled the disciplines to converge. The ubiquity of online access inspires a dream of a single search cutting across format, location, and time. The digitization of collections has triggered homogeneity and a drive towards convergence. Cathro (2011, 1) notes that “researchers, students and citizens who are seeking access to intellectual and cultural materials do not wish to be constrained by institutional boundaries in their discovery and use of information

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resources”. The author further recommends that institutions and professional associations should reconsider convergence as a way to add value to service provision. Dempsey (2000) notes that libraries, museums, and archives, which have always had shared research interests, are now moving towards shared networks. The internet has become a handy tool for memory institutions to create network spaces through which they deliver databases, collection guides, exhibitions, and digital surrogates of their collections. D.J. Waters (cited in Tanner 2005, 9) notes that the prosperity and integrity of society is dependent upon the quality of a society’s intellectual heritage: “Culture, any culture ... depends on the quality of its records of knowledge”. Librarians, archivists, and records managers generally refer to themselves as information managers. Yet traditionally, libraries, archives, and museums have occupied different places in our social and informational space. The strategies they have adopted to interact with their users, and the organization and interpretation of their collections differ and shape the definition of education in and for specific settings. The authors have noted with concern that lack of support for memory institutions will ultimately undermine progress towards an all-inclusive society, considering that Zimbabwe is a multicultural society with many indigenous languages that need support to leverage them on the development agenda. Access to information is a key tenet of a democratic society and memory institutions should take the duty seriously. The preservation of cultural heritage is critical in leveraging indigenous knowledge. The authors posit that without preservation there will not be access and therefore prioritize projects aimed at preserving cultural heritage. “Public institutions such as libraries and archives, museums, cultural collections and other community-based access points should be strengthened so as to promote the preservation of documentary records and free equitable access to information” (Shuler 2007, 714). Several challenges affect the documentation and dissemination of indigenous knowledge in Africa. According to Lwoga, Ngulube and Stilwell (2010, 176), “poor attitudes, knowledge culture and personal characteristics (age, gender, status, wealth, political influence and so on) also affect perceptions, actions and access to knowledge in the local communities”. Meyer (2009) adds, “Information flow in an oral context is controlled by attitudes, perceptions, norms, values and belief systems inherent to indigenous people.” For example, when people experience an information need, they will approach a knowledgeable person whom they trust. They are hesitant to make individual decisions unless they have been sanctioned by the group or the headman of the community (Nwonwu 2008). The world over, indigenous people are reclaiming their right to be recognised as equals in the developmental agenda and Africa is no exception to this trend.



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Conclusion The thrust towards a knowledge-driven economic ethos in Africa in general and Zimbabwe in particular can only be arrived at through the realisation of the first starting point of knowledge that happens to be the memory institutions. Memory institutions are thus vital and remain the epicentre of any given country serious about preservation of indigenous knowledge. The twenty-first century provides opportunities for memory institutions and memory workers or professionals to close the lacunae between cultures through leveraging indigenous knowledge. Through empowering indigenous people to re-appropriate what belongs to them, they reposition themselves on equal footing with everyone and as equal partners in the drive towards sustainable development. The African continent cannot continue to be in a retrogressive façade trap that seeks to postulate that there is no indigenization knowledge to speak of before the continent’s colonial history. Yet all the rich indigenous knowledge that the world continues to benefit from today such as regional integration, globalization, and sustainable development have their original traces to Africa. As such, the pursuit towards leveraging memory institutions to preserve indigenous knowledge in the knowledge age is the panacea to the world’s hidden answers and the challenges beleaguering the modern world.

References Abidi, Syed A.H. 1991. Communication, Information and Development in Africa. Kampala, Uganda: Bano Abidi Publications. Babbie, Earl. 2003. The Basics of Social Research. Beijing: Asia Pte Ltd. Breidlid, Anders. 2009. “Culture, IK Systems and Sustainable Development: A Critical View of Education in an African Context.” International Journal of Educational Development 29: 140–148. Cathro, Warwick. 2001. “Smashing the Silos: Towards Convergence in Information Management and Resource Discovery.” Paper presented at the Information Orienteering Conference, Canberra 5 April 2001. National Library of Australia Staff Papers. http://www.nla.gov.au/ openpublish/index.php/nlasp/rt/printerFriendly/1316/1602. Accessed on 5 February 2016. Chisita, Collence Takaingenhamo. 2011. “Role of Libraries in Promoting the Dissemination and Documentation of Indigenous Agricultural Information: Case Study of Zimbabwe.” Paper presented at the International Federation of Library Association’s Annual Conference, San Juan, August 13–18, 2011. Accessed on 20 May 2015. http://conference.ifla.org/ past-wlic/2011/78-chisita-en.pdf. Conrad, Joseph. (1899) 1990. Heart of Darkness. New York: Dover Publications. Creswell, John W. 2009. The Selection of a Research Design. Pretoria: Sage Publications.

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Dempsey, Lorcan. 2000. “Scientific, Industrial, and Cultural Heritage: A Shared Approach. A Research Framework for Digital Libraries, Museums and Archives”. Ariadne 22. http:// www.ariadne.ac.uk/issue22/dempsey. Accessed on 5 February 2016. Dupont, Christian. 2007. “Libraries, Archives, and Museums in the Twenty-First Century: Intersecting Missions, Converging Futures?” RBM: A Journal of Rare Books Manuscripts and Cultural Heritage 8(1): 13–19. http://rbm.acrl.org/content/8/1/13.full.pdf+html. Accessed on 5 February 2016. Featherstone, Mike. 2006. “Archive.” Theory, Culture and Society 23(2–3): 591–596. Genge, P. 2008. “Historic Reference Collection, Bulawayo Public Library Zimbabwe.” Paper presented at the IFLA Round Table on Newspapers, May 2008. Kirchhoff, Thomas, Werner Schweibenz and Jörn Sieglerschmidt. 2008. “Archives, Libraries, Museums and the Spell of Ubiquitous Knowledge.” Archival Science 8(4): 251–266. Kunnie, Julian. 2001. “Developing Indigenous Knowledge and Technological Systems.” In Indigenous Knowledge and Technology in African and Diasporan Communities: Multi-Disciplinary Approaches, edited by Approaches E.M. Chiwome, Z. Gambahaya and M. Furusa, 39–48. Harare: Southern African Association for Culture and Development Studies. Lwoga, Edda Tandi, Patrick Ngulube, and Christine Stilwell. 2010. “Managing Indigenous Knowledge for Sustainable Agricultural Development in Developing Countries: Knowledge Management Approaches in the Social Context.” International Information & Library Review 42: 174–185. Made, S.H. 1988. Project in Resource Sharing in Southern and Central Africa (Botswana, Malawi, Zambia and Zimbabwe). Paris: UNESCO. http://unesdoc.unesco.org/ images/0008/000815/081541eb.pdf. Accessed on 7 October 2009. Mapara, Jacob. 2009. “Indigenous Knowledge Systems in Zimbabwe: Juxtaposing Postcolonial Theory.” Journal of Pan African Studies 3: 370–376. Marechera, Dambudzo. 1990. The Black Insider. [Trenton, NJ]: Africa World Press. Meyer, Hester W. J. 2009. “The Influence of Information Behaviour on Information Sharing Across Cultural Boundaries in Development Context.” Information Research 14(1). http:// www.informationr.net/ir/14-1/paper393.html. Accessed on 5 February 2016. Nakata, Martin, Alex Byrne, Vicky Nakata and Gabrielle Gardiner, 2005. “Indigenous Knowledge, the Library and Information Service Sector, and Protocols.” Australian Academic & Research Libraries 36(2): 7–21. Nwonwu, F. 2009. “Using Indigenous Knowledge in Traditional Agricultural Systems for Poverty and Hunger Eradication: Reflections on Prospects in South Africa.” Africa Insight 37(4): 47–60. Ogundipe, Oladipo Olusegun. 2005. The Librarianship of Developing Countries: The Librarianship of Diminished Resources. Lagos: Ikofa Press. Otlet, Peter. 1934. Traité de documentation: Le livre sur le livre: Théorie et pratique. Bruxelles: Van Keerberghen. Shuler, John. 2007. “Academic Libraries and the Global Information Society.” Journal of Academic Librarianship 33(6): 710–713. Tanner, Simon. 2005. Digital Libraries and Culture: A Report for UNESCO. London: KDCS. https://www.academia.edu/813027/Digital_Libraries_and_Culture_A_Report_for_ UNESCO. Accessed on 3 March 2016. Trant, Jennifer. 2009. “Emerging convergence? Thoughts on Museums, Archives, Libraries, and Professional Training.” Museum Management and Curatorship 24(4): 369–387.



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UN General Assembly. 2007. United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: resolution/adopted by the General Assembly, A/RES/61/295. http://www.un-documents. net/a61r295.htm. Accessed on 22 January 2016. Viriri, Advice. 2003. “Language Planning in Zimbabwe: The Conservation and Management of Indigenous Languages as Intangible Heritage.” Paper presented at the ICOMOS 14th General Assembly and Scientific Symposiam, Victoria Falls, 27–31 October 2003. http:// www.icomos.org/victoriafalls2003/papers/C1-5%20-%20Vririri.pdf. Accessed on 23 January 2015. Zimbabwe. 1985. National Archives of Zimbabwe Act. Zimbabwe. 1985b. National Library and Documentation Service Act [Chapter 25:10]. Zimbabwe. 2001. Broadcasting Services Act [Chapter 12:06]. Zimbabwe. 2013. Constitution of Zimbabwe Amendment (No. 20) Act. Zimbabwe. Ministry of Education, Sport and Culture. 2007. Cultural Policy of Zimbabwe. [Harare: Ministry of Education, Sport and Culture]. Available at http://artsinafrica.com/ uploads/2011/06/CULTURAL_POLICY_OF_ZIMBABWE_2007.pdf. Accessed on 5 February 2016. Zorich, Diane, Günter Waibel and Ricky Erway. “Beyond the Silos of the Lams: Collaboration among Libraries, Archives and Museums.” Accessed May 29, 2008. http://www.oclc.org/ content/dam/research/publications/library/2008/2008-05.pdf.

Cristina B. Villanueva

19 T  he University of the Philippines Baguio Cordillera Studies Collection Library and UP Baguio Cordillera/Northern Luzon Historical Archives in the Dissemination of Indigenous Knowledge for Indigenous Peoples The Northern Philippines Experience The second-largest concentration of indigenous groups in the Philippines is found in Luzon, the biggest island of the Philippines. The Cordillera Region alone, located north of Manila, is home to seven major ethnolinguistic groups, namely the Bontok, Ibaloi, Ifugao, Isneg, Kalinga, Kankanaey and Tinggian, and under each group several sub-ethnolinguistic groups. The long history of resistance to Spanish domination and America’s policy of benevolent assimilation has affected the cultural landscape of the Region. America’s influences, coupled with modernization, religion, education, and a host of other factors continue to threaten the cultural heritage of the people. With these conditions, there is an overwhelming need to promote and preserve information sources of the indigenous knowledge, practices, and traditions of the Cordillera Region. Libraries and archives, particularly those of the UP Baguio, have started to work towards these end goals. This chapter will highlight the efforts of the UP Baguio Cordillera Library and Historical Archives to boost, market, promote access, and preserve its collection with the aim of contributing to the preservation of Cordillera indigenous knowledge and cultural heritage.

Introduction The Philippines, a country located in Southeast Asia, is an archipelago composed of more than 7,100 islands. Two of the biggest islands are the islands of Luzon and Mindanao, where the majority of the indigenous peoples inhabit. The Philippines is home to more than sixty indigenous groups that speak different languages. The country’s history has been steeped in colonization under three powers who have ruled the country, namely Spain, the United States and Japan. For more than



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300 years Spain governed the Philippines. The United States was next when it purchased the Philippines from Spain by virtue of the Treaty of Paris when Spain was defeated in the Spanish American War. Japan’s rule lasted for fewer than three years after its defeat in the Second World War. The Igorots were not easily subdued by the Spaniards, unlike their lowland counterparts who assimilated Spanish lifeways. Because of this, the Igorots were able to retain their indigenous customs and traditions. Change, however, was inevitable with the coming of the Americans, who were able to pacify them. Cordillera indigenous customs and traditions continue to struggle to survive up to the present times. This chapter briefly looks into the indigenous knowledge literature beginning in the early twentieth century with material written by American scholars who came to the Cordillera. Finally, it introduces the efforts by the UP Baguio to contribute to the promotion of Cordillera indigenous studies hand in hand with the efforts of the CSC Library and the C/NLA Archives in the Region. Their efforts focused on collecting, preserving, and providing access to the indigenous knowledge developed and accumulated over time by the indigenous peoples of the Cordillera Region.

The Cordillera, its History and People The Cordillera Region is located in northern Luzon, the biggest island of the Philippines. It is bounded on the north and east by the Cagayan Region and on the west and south by the Ilocos Region. Six provinces and two cities make up the Region, namely Abra, Apayao, Benguet, Ifugao, Kalinga, Mountain Province, Baguio City, and Tabuk City. Owing to its elevation and temperate climate, the Region is rich in natural resources and biodiversity. The Amburayan, Agno, Bued, and Chico Rivers that flow to the Cagayan and Ilocos Regions and that drain into the South China Sea and Pacific Ocean have their headwaters in the Cordillera Region. The mountain chains called Gran Cordillera, from the Spanish term meaning “mountain”, rise from the Cagayan Valley and traverse the Region until they taper down towards the Pangasinan plains. The mountains became the refuge of the Igorot people who fled deeper into the mountains to seek protection from Spanish conquerors (Scott 1975b). From these mountains came the gold that the Igorots fiercely defended, as it was the greatest lure and attraction to Spaniards. More importantly, out of these mountains were built the famous rice terraces sculpted manually by the Ifugaos using only crude stone tools.

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In 1912, the subprovinces of Amburayan, Apayao, Benguet, Bontoc, Ifugao, Kalinga, and Lepanto made up the then single province, Mountain Province, so named due to its geographical terrain. The Republic Act 4695, passed on June 1966, divided the Mountain Province into the provinces of Benguet, Ifugao, Kalinga-Apayao, and the Mountain Province (1966). The Bontoc sub-province was renamed Mountain Province. The present Region was created by virtue of Executive Order No. 220, signed into law by then President Corazon C. Aquino (1987). Prior to 1987, however, the provinces of Kalinga-Apayao and Ifugao were part of the Cagayan Region, and the provinces of Mountain Province, Abra, and Benguet formed part of the Ilocos Region. Their shared common cultural and historical heritage has been the reason behind their merger into the present Cordillera Region. Attempts have failed to establish the Cordillera as an autonomous region capable of fiscally and politically managing its internal affairs, as the majority of its citizens have rejected the proposal in two separate plebiscites. Thus, it was designated an Administrative Region directly under the juridical and administrative supervision of the state. The Region is home to seven major ethnolinguistic groups, namely the Tinggian of Abra; Isneg of Apayao; Kalinga; Kankana-ey of southern Mountain Province; Ibaloy of Benguet; Ifugao; and Bontok of northern Mountain Province. It has the second largest concentration of indigenous groups of people, next to the island of Mindanao. Under these major ethnolinguistic groups are still several sub-ethnolinguistic groupings. The geographic terrain of the region earned the inhabitants the collective albeit derogatory name “Igorots” from the Filipino word Igolot (Scott 1993). Igolot comes from the root word golot or golod which means “mountain chain”, and the prefix i meaning “people of”, Thus, igolot means “people of the hill or mountain.” Because of its negative connotation, the people would prefer to be called by their province of origin, thus, people from Kalinga are called Ikalinga, Ifugao people are called Ifugaos, people from Mountain Province are called Kankanaeys or Ibontoks, people from Abra are called Tingguians, and people from Baguio are Ibalois. Partly due to its rugged terrain and largely to their resistance, the inhabitants of the region were not easily subdued by the Spanish conquistadores. It was only towards the end of the Spanish colonial rule that politico-military commandancias were established in some parts of the Region. And because of the Igorots’ continued struggle for independence from Spanish control they were labelled as uncivilized, infieles (pagans), fierce, and barbaric. Their non-assimilation into mainstream Spanish rule enabled the Igorots to survive in a society free of Western influence.



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The coming of the Americans to the Philippines in the later part of the nineteenth century dramatically changed the Igorot cultural landscape. The colonial government’s influence has radically and slowly altered the way the Igorots conduct their everyday lives, with education and religion greatly influencing changes in Igorot society and culture. Unlike the Spanish conquistadores who were very much interested in their gold and who wanted to impose taxes, the Americans befriended the natives, earning their trust and confidence. It was during this period that the culture of the Cordillerans was recorded and written about extensively. Prominent Americans, the likes of Dean C. Worcester, David P. Barrows, Roy F. Barton, and Faye Cooper Cole, to name a few, extensively photographed and wrote about the customs and traditions of the mountain people. Belgian missionaries like Francis Lambrecht, Maurice Vanoverbergh, and Francisco Billiet not only baptized and introduced them to the Catholic faith but also studied and gave written accounts of their “pagan” culture. Early written accounts of the Cordillera life ways penned by foreigners who were fascinated by the unique customs and traditions of the inhabitants described them as bare-breasted, tattooed, head-hunters, dog-eaters who somehow reinforced the Spanish claims of their backwardness.

Indigenous Knowledge and the Cordillera After the United States won the Spanish-American War that led to the purchase of the Philippines from Spain in 1898, plans were under way to explore and check on the social and political condition of the Cordillera (Fry 2006). American colonizers wanted to validate reports from previous Spanish officials of a region that had a temperate climate conducive to recuperation and a province rich in gold deposits. Dean C. Worcester, who previously came to the Philippines in 1892, decided to conduct a reconnaissance of Benguet. He was part of the First Philippine Commission under Herbert Schurman. Worcester’s travels to the Cordillera resulted in a number of writings about the unexplored areas and non-Christian tribes of the Region in particular, and of the Philippines in general (Worcester 1906, 1912, 1913, 1914). The curiosity of Americans back home was aroused by accounts of Worcester and the exhibition of tribes from the Philippines in the Louisiana Purchase Exposition of 1904 in St Louis, Missouri. This exhibition triggered an influx of scholars to the Philippines. Up to this point the Philippines was an unknown country that the United States purchased from Spain for millions of dollars.

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Sources written right after the Americans took over the reins of the Philippine government indicate that Igorots possessed extensive indigenous local knowledge long before the Americans came to the Region. Beyer, in his article “Ifugaos Using World’s Most Perfect Calendar”, wrote that this group of indigenous peoples was often referred to as savages, however, he notes that they were more advanced in some aspects, such as having a calendar that they used for agriculture (Beyer 1924). In another report, Scott quotes Beyer and Merrill, “that before the coming of hospitals, Ifugaos already had a vast knowledge on the use of local plants as they used the different parts of plants to cure and heal diseases” (Scott 1975b, 39). Knowledge of ethnobotany has allowed the Igorots to take advantage of the healing properties as well as the economic value of plants and trees. Albert Jenks, an American anthropologist, was assigned to head the Ethnological Survey of the Department of the Interior of the Philippines in 1902. He published a book in 1905 entitled The Bontoc Igorot. This book was the result of his residence of five months with the Bontoc people of the Mountain Province. He documented the Bontoc Igorots’ material culture, agricultural practices, religion, rituals, and customs. Jenks held the Igorots in high esteem and he had this to say about them: “The Igorot does not know many things in common with enlightened men, and yet one constantly marvels at his practical knowledge. Taylor says primitive man has ‘rude, shrewd sense.’ The Igorot has more – he has practical wisdom” (Jenks 1905, 216). Faye Cooper Cole, another American anthropologist, who studied the Tinguians of Abra, wrote and acknowledged in 1915 that “Their material culture, beliefs, and ceremonials are quite uniform and exceedingly complex” (Cole 1915, 3) and that “Observation has led me to the belief that the religious organization and ceremonies of the Tinguian have reached a higher development than is found among the neighboring tribes, and that this complexity decreases as we penetrate toward the interior or to the south” (Cole 1915, 4). According to Cole, Spanish writers described the Tinguians as being different from other Philippine tribes that they are peaceful and have great agricultural skills (Cole 1922, 247). Indigenous knowledge is defined as local knowledge or knowledge developed about a particular place. Mendoza expounds that indigenous knowledge means “having originated in and being produced, growing, living, or occurring naturally in a particular region of environment” (Mendoza 2000, 1). Indigenous knowledge is also called, “local knowledge”, “indigenous technical knowledge” and “traditional knowledge”. This is knowledge developed by the local or Indigenous peoples about agricultural practices, the environment, natural resource management, health practices, food sustainability, and other local knowledge which Indigenous people use for survival. By closely examining their environ-



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ment and things around them, these indigenous peoples were able to acquire, learn, develop, and pass on this knowledge to the next generation. In the Cordillera, the different indigenous groups still practise their traditional knowledge. This is evident in the way the Ifugaos, the people who inhabit Ifugao, a province famous for its rice terraces and located in the central Cordillera, manage their muyong (woodlot) and pinugo (forest), how the Bontoc people enforce agricultural activities, and how the Sagada people manage their farms. The Ifugaos need to care for their forests or muyong because here is where water originates and flows out to irrigate the swiddens and terraces. The swiddens and terraces are planted with cash crops and rice, their staple food, as well as habitation for shellfish and mudfish. The method by which the famous Ifugao rice terraces and stone walls have been built is evident of the Ifugao’s ingenuity and indigenous knowledge of allowing water from the mountain top to flow and irrigate the different levels of rice fields. Basically, the terraces and swiddens are the Ifugaos’ source of sustainability. It is therefore imperative that they take care of the environment as the degradation of one element of their agro-ecosystem would result in the death of the entire system. A number of Igorot rituals, which are manifestations of their respect and care for the environment, are performed during agricultural cycles. Their belief and respect for anitos as guardians of natural resources such as trees, fields, forests, rivers, and lakes has created in them respect for these resources and over harvesting of these resources is forbidden. The Sagada Igorots’ tengao and agricultural holidays before and after harvest season allow for the fields to regenerate and build up nutrients for the next planting season.

Access, Copyright, and Use of Indigenous Knowledge Traditional knowledge is safeguarded by families and is passed on from generation to generation mostly through oral tradition. Traditional knowledge, however, is on the brink of being forgotten and lost due to the effects of modernization. Modernization and the patterns of development processes have greatly affected the continued use and transfer of indigenous knowledge from the older generations to the younger generations. As families continue to look for ways to survive economic difficulties, farms and swiddens are transformed into plots for commercial crops. Children who are sent to urban centres for education no longer see the viability of returning home to their communities to continue tending farms as these activities are back-breaking with little return of investment. The young can

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no longer be relied upon to tend the community’s muyongs that have given their ancestors survival mechanisms. The aging population left behind cannot pass on their acquired and accumulated knowledge and skills as the younger generations are no longer interested in learning them. Thus, old people die without passing this knowledge to their children. Further, since this knowledge is passed on through oral tradition, it is very vulnerable to disintegration and being forgotten. Western knowledge, introduced by outsiders, compounds the loss and death of indigenous knowledge as traditional knowledge is considered “irrational and superstitious” (Malanes 2013, 39). Thus, introduced knowledge or Western knowledge that is marketed as more superior and scientific is being adopted over traditional knowledge and systems. Development workers, environmentalists, scholars and researchers now agree that there is a need to revive indigenous knowledge (Malanes 2013). There are calls for the preservation of indigenous knowledge to prevent its eventual death (Fiag-oy and Diano 2012; Abbass et al. 1996; Apolinar 1998). The growing desire to preserve traditional knowledge is premised on the belief that this knowledge should supplement scientific knowledge in the indigenous people’s quest for sustainable development. A number of strategies to fulfill this have been articulated such as recording and documenting local practices after which these are made available to community members. Documenting and recording is a strategy that best supports preservation efforts as the vulnerability of indigenous knowledge is greatly affected by its characteristics of being passed on by word of mouth. A number of non-governmental organizations (NGOs) have expressed concern and taken action to preserve the indigenous knowledge of the peoples of the Cordillera. Their belief is that the erosion of traditional knowledge directly affects sustainable agriculture and food security, management and conservation of biodiversity, and natural resources. This erosion impacts the sustainable development of indigenous communities and perpetuation of Cordillera heritage (Fiag-oy and Diano 2012; Malanes 2013). The Cordillera Women’s Education and Resource Center (CWERC), Montanosa Research and Development Center (MRDC), and Tebtebba Foundation have lead in concerted efforts to research and document traditional knowledge of the Cordillera indigenous peoples who have been relegated to the margins with the coming of Western colonizers. To date, numerous papers and research documents initiated by these NGOs have been written on the traditional knowledge of the Cordillera Region. Research on indigenous knowledge includes, but has not been limited to, indigenous health practices and women’s notions of health with emphasis on healing rituals and practices; and reproductive health and use of herbal or alternative medicine. In the areas of natural resource management and environmental protection, of interest are the Igorot’s knowledge on land-use systems; biodiversity conservation and



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use; pest management; rights of indigenous people to their ancestral domain; agricultural practices and the role of customs and beliefs; and local farming tools and technology among others. The growing concern for food sustainability has led to research on indigenous knowledge on upland agricultural methods; food production; gender roles; ecosystem management; and sustainable agriculture as strategies that support and address food security. Also being pursued are ways to document the decreasing use of indigenous material culture; their extant customs and traditions; biopiracy; biofuels; and the integration of all this knowledge into the educational curriculum to ensure that future generation do not forget their cultural heritage. Relatively new but equally necessary are efforts to record indigenous knowledge that will aid in combating climate change and mitigating its destructive effects. Members of the academe have also shared in the efforts to preserve traditional knowledge through research. For instance, research by faculty members of the UP Baguio have documented the use by indigenous peoples of a number of plants (Balangcod 1998; Balangcod 2010; Balangcod and Balangcod 2011); their health care systems (Palaganas 1999; Palaganas 2003); their management of natural resources and protection of biodiversity (Boquiren 1995, 1998), to name a few. Endeavours to document Cordillera traditional knowledge that are on the brink of being lost are commendable; however, mechanisms to collect and preserve these documents should be in place. A potential problem seen with this strategy is the lack of libraries, archives, and resource centres where these documents and information resources will be stored and will serve as dissemination centres. Efforts to document local knowledge will be in vain if institutions are not in place to gather all these documents in one place and have these made available to indigenous peoples and the public. Despite the region being home to a number of ethnolinguistic and sub-ethnolinguistic groups rich in indigenous knowledge and culture, the creation of libraries, archives, and resource centres aimed at collecting, preserving, and providing access to documented and recorded indigenous knowledge has been slow to catch up. Documents written on the customs, traditions, religion, beliefs, and indigenous knowledge of the different Philippine indigenous groups by American anthropologists who came to the Philippines at the turn of the twentieth century are now preserved and taken care of in different archives and libraries around the world. Many of the anthropologists who went home to the United States took with them the recorded knowledge accumulated during their stay in the Philippines. There were some who not only took recorded knowledge but also art objects, artifacts, ritual objects, everyday material implements, and plant and animal samples.

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The Dean C. Worcester papers, together with his collection of tens of thousands of photographs, are now held in these institutions: University of Michigan; Field Museum of Natural History; National Anthropological Archives of the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History; Thetford Historical Society; Peabody Museum of Harvard University and Rautenstrauch-Joest Museum in Cologne, Germany. The Henry Otley Beyer papers are now deposited with the National Library of Australia. The University of Chicago Library holds the Fay Cooper Cole papers while the Bancroft Library at the University of California at Berkeley is in possession of the papers of David P. Barrows. Filipino scholars have articulated problems regarding access to Cordillera archival documents. Antonio Buangan (2004), a descendant of a participant who was exhibited in the 1904 St Louis Fair, for instance, laments the fact that he had to visit libraries and archives in the United States, particularly the Missouri Historical Society Museum in St Louis and the American Museum of Natural History, to research his ancestor, because there is a dearth of materials in the Philippines. Scott (1977) notes the availability of archival documents on the Cordillera but these are either in Manila or overseas. For this reason he travelled to the Spain and the United States. His research resulted in his English translations of a number of Spanish documents. Problems in access have impacted research on the Cordillera. Since documents are either in Manila or in libraries and archives abroad, the cost of travel plus the added cost of photocopying or scanning documents puts great financial burden on researchers that some make do with available documents in libraries in the locality or have either abandoned interest in conducting research on the Cordillera. Developments in information technology have somewhat eased difficulties in research. Digitized documents can now be viewed online. Finding aids in online catalogues have likewise assisted research endeavours. Getting requested documents scanned and mailed to the Philippines, however, still remains a dilemma as we have experienced in the past. Philippine accounting, auditing rules and postal regulations have become stumbling blocks in getting needed documents expeditiously and on time. Trouble still looms large with documents that have not yet been digitized, like the papers of Henry Otley Beyer at the National Library of Australia. The contents, considered valuable information, will unfortunately remain inaccessible unless efforts to digitize the collection are implemented. Talks on repatriation of documents have started to emerge. But unless Cordillera documents remain under the custody of foreign libraries and archives, repatriation will continue to be an abstract idea and the owners of the indigenous knowledge will likewise remain under the colonizing power of these foreign countries. Copyright is another problem that hinders indigenous peoples from having full control of their indigenous knowledge contained in these documents. Indig-



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enous peoples will never understand why they have to ask permission to access and utilize documents that have in the first place originated from them. By virtue of US copyright law, libraries and archives where the documents have been deposited have become the owners of the intellectual as well as the physical contents of the documents. Because of restrictions imposed by US copyright law, indigenous peoples are prevented from using documents for reasons other than research.

UP Baguio The foregoing issues have played an important role in the development of the CSC Library and establishment of the C/NLH Archives. The difficulty in accessing archival documents on the Cordillera is one of the articulated reasons by the UP Baguio History professors who worked for the setting up of the C/NLH Archives. UP Baguio is the only institution in the Region that extensively collects information sources on the Cordillera under its CSC Library and C/NLH Archives. Efforts are under way to continually improve their collection and access functions to better serve the information needs of scholars wanting to research the Cordillera Region. The University of the Philippines was established in 1961 as a degree-granting college of the University of the Philippines Diliman campus. Initially an arts and sciences college, it was granted autonomous status in 1999 and finally became the seventh constituent university of the UP System in 2002. The College of Arts and Communication, College of Social Sciences, and College of Science make up the three colleges of UP Baguio. As a UP campus located north of Manila, it has adhered to the “principles of academic excellence, academic freedom, and nationalism” (UP College Baguio, 1994, 1). It is particularly committed to excellence in curricular, research, and extension programmes with regional perspectives. UP Baguio endeavours to be a lead academic institution in Cordillera studies and research and with this aspiration conducted research focused on themes such as ethnic studies, regional communities, policy planning, natural resource management, and indigenous mathematical and biological knowledge systems, to name a few (UP Baguio 2009). The current administration’s vision is to be an academic institution with strong research productivity (Rovillos 2012). Faculty and research staff are encouraged and challenged to conduct research to support the development and improvement of knowledge. Towards this end, the administration has created the impetus by instituting and creating proposals, programmes, and plans to entice faculty and staff to conduct research.

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Another vision articulated is the administration’s focus on Cordillera studies and the promotion/protection of Cordillera/Northern Luzon heritage, culture, and the arts. To achieve this vision, the university seeks to retain and expand its lead role in Cordillera studies. Another area that the administration focuses on is its distinction as an “institutional custodian of the collective memory and identity of the peoples of the Cordillera and Northern Luzon” (Rovillos 2012, 4). To realize this mission, the following entities are set in place: a museum, the Cordillera/ Northern Luzon Historical Archives, and the Program for Indigenous Cultures.

The UP Baguio Cordillera Studies Collection Library The Cordillera Studies Collection (CSC) Library traces its history to the establishment of two libraries in the academic community of UP Baguio under two different organizations. When the UP Baguio Library was set up, a Cordillera Section was conceptualized under the Filipiniana Section to collect materials on the Cordillera Region. The majority of the collection of the Cordillera Section was photocopied materials sourced out from the mother unit of the Library, the University of the Philippines Diliman Main Library. Over the years, the Library’s collection grew moderately. Materials collected by the Library were limited to books. On the other hand, the Cordillera Studies Center (CSC), then the research and extension arm of the University, was established on 26 June 1980. It was not until 1983 that the organizational structure of the Center included a library that was tasked to collect materials to support its research objectives and the information needs of the students of the Division of Social Sciences’ (now the College of Social Sciences) graduate programme. Specifically, the Library acquired materials on ethnography, ethnology, communication, language and literature, ancestral land issues, and other related fields of interest that focused on relevant issues specific to the highland communities of the Cordillera Region. To manage and organize its collection, the Library hired a librarian on a contractual basis since the Center was a self-sustaining organization that depended on funding grants from external sources. The core Cordillera collection of the Center, however, were materials photocopied from the Main library. With their aim of acquiring information sources related to issues of interest on the Cordillera Region, the two libraries were in fact duplicating functions and collections. Because the Cordillera Studies Center received funding from institutions like Asia Foundation and Ford Foundation, materials on a wide range of topics and formats characterized the collection of the CSC Library. The collection, however,



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was not limited to Cordillera materials as it procured materials of interest to the current research endeavours of the Center. In 1990, an inventory showed a total collection of 884 volumes of Filipiniana books, 1,001 volumes of non-Filipiniana and 1,033 volumes of reprints (Mendoza and Ladia 1991, 12). Cordillera materials accounted for 578 titles. The specialized nature of the Library and the specialized work focus of the librarian, with aid from external funding institutions, contributed to the steady and improved acquisition of the CSC Library’s Cordillera collection. When the construction of a UP Baguio Main Library building started in 1988, the Cordillera Studies Center Library was allotted a space, although management of the special library remained under the jurisdiction of the Cordillera Studies Center. In 1990, initial plans to integrate the collection of the Cordillera Studies Center Library into the UP Baguio Main Library was initiated but unfortunately did not push through. The plan was revived in 2002. The move hoped to solve the problem of lack of manpower to operate the library on a full time basis, to maintain the collection, and to open the library to users on a continuing basis. Finally, in December 2003, the Cordillera Studies Center Library was fully integrated into the Main Library. With the integration of the two libraries, the new Library, now called Cordillera Studies Collection Library, boasts of a more expanded collection both in print and non-print formats. The name connotes the vision of the Library to have the best and most exhaustive collection of Cordillera materials with the aim of providing information sources to students, faculty, and staff as well as non-UP researchers. As such, the Library endeavours to aggressively collect all materials on the Cordillera in whatever format these are presented. The Cordillera Studies Collection Library occupies the right wing of the second floor of the Main Library annex building. As stated before, the Library’s acquisition policy has been geared towards the acquisition of materials that support the continuing mission of the University in developing its niche in Cordillera studies. To date the library has a wide array of print as well as non-print materials on Abra, Apayao, Benguet, Ifugao, Kalinga, Mountain Province, Tabuk City, and the chartered city of Baguio. The 2,265 volumes of books representing 901 titles of the Library showcase the colourful history and the rich culture of the indigenous peoples of the Cordillera. Aside from books, the Library has a total of 1,068 monograph titles that comprise offprint series, conference papers, photocopied journal articles, and book chapters discussing the Region’s storied past, unique culture, and often extant customs and practices. The Library also clips newspaper articles from national dailies that report current happenings in and around the Region. Also included in the collection are journals, magazines, and local newspapers. Maps, such as land

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use maps, slope maps, and erosion maps are available for use. The Library has an extensive collection of microfilms, audio, and video compact discs depicting the remarkable cultural heritage of the Cordilleras in moving pictures and sound recordings.

UP Baguio Cordillera/Northern Luzon Historical Archives When the University of the Philippines celebrated its one hundredth year in 2008, one project launched by the UP Baguio’s Centennial Committee to commemorate this milestone was the establishment of an Archives. Through the centennial project, “Understanding Cordillera Culture Through Primary Sources: A Cordillera/Northern Luzon Historical Archives Project”, a historical archive was set up in August 22, 2007 to collect, reproduce, catalogue, and preserve historical/archival materials in one conducive place within the UP Baguio campus. Specifically, the project has the following objectives: 1. Strengthen historical research in UP Baguio and the Cordillera Region; 2. Forge linkages with local, national, and international archives; 3. Collect, catalogue, and preserve archival materials. The UP Baguio Cordillera/Northern Luzon Archives is the first regional archives in the Cordillera and Northern Luzon that primarily acquires and makes accessible to scholars historical documents, i.e., mission reports, government records, memoirs, maps, photographs, correspondences, and personal papers of prominent individuals of the Cordillera in particular and Northern Luzon in general. The Archives works closely and receives guidance and advice from the Department of History and Philosophy of the College of Social Sciences. With this set-up, the collection policy has been focused towards the acquisition of primary sources that would enhance knowledge and scholarly work on the Cordillera and its indigenous people. To sustain the Archives, the former Dean of the College of Social Sciences initiated the preparation of a draft “Plan for the Development of the University of the Philippines Baguio Cordillera and Northern Luzon Historical Archives” (Rovillos and Villanueva 2011). The draft blueprint, approved in December 2011, placed the Archives in the organizational structure of UP Baguio and charted the direction the Archives will take for the coming years. Aside from emphasizing the vision, mission, goals, purposes and significance of the Archives, it also spelled out the



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Archives’ organizational structure, budgetary requirements, collection maintenance, development, and priority acquisition. With the vision of the UP Baguio to become an academic institution devoted to the development of Cordillera studies, the Archives is seen as a means of achieving this vision of the parent organization. The Archives’ mission, aside from being a repository of primary sources on the Cordillera, aims to collect as much as humanly possible all known sources written on the Cordillera.

The Archives Collection The C/NLH Archives currently houses the papers of notable individuals who made enduring contributions to the development of the Cordillera Region. Photographs, some of which are considered rare, derived from the early years of the Region make up the collection.

Laurence L. Wilson Papers Laurence Lee Wilson, a mining prospector, anthropologist, and folklorist born in Omaha, Nebraska on 16 September 1885, came to the Philippines after World War II. He became a folklorist recording Cordillera oral traditions and publishing them in the Baguio Midland Courier, the local weekly paper of Baguio City. The collected writings were later published in book form. The Laurence Wilson collection consists of film negatives and 162 black-and-white photographs on the Cordillera. The papers have been in the possession of the Cordillera Studies Center Library since the 1980s. According to Professor Analyn Salvador-Amores, who made an inventory of the photographs, there is no accurate date when the CSC Library acquired these materials. Sometime in 1982, Dr William Henry Scott donated some photographs and historic maps to the Center (Salvador-Amores 2001).  These black-and-white photographs were said to be the collection of Laurence Lee Wilson. The old maps were unfortunately destroyed in 1993 when Typhoon Goring struck, flooding sections of the Library and destroying a large part of the collection. The photographs detail the ordinary lives of the Cordillerans before the coming of the Spanish colonizers. Baguio City and its environs at the turn of the twentieth century as well as individuals who prominently figured in the history of the Mountain Provinces are the other popular themes of the photographs. There are a number of items of correspondence between Wilson, Fr Francisco Billiet,

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Henry Otley Beyer, and Henry A. Kamora, a former “President” of Kabayan, the seat of Ibaloi culture. In her short write-up on the photos, Salvador-Amores (2001) notes when the photos were discovered in a pile at the Library, stapled together, and mislabelled. Some of the photos and letters were mounted on scrap papers, making the annotations at the back of the photos hard to read or altogether unreadable. The photos were in varying states of deterioration and were badly in need of preservation. Given their condition as described by Salvador-Amores, we can only hope that other important documents were not destroyed or thrown.

The Robert B. Fox, Sr Papers The biggest collection in the Archives consists of the papers of Dr Robert B. Fox, Sr (1918–1985), an American anthropologist who made substantive and enduring contributions to Philippine anthropology. His papers document his work and research among the Tagbanuwa of Palawan, the Pinatubo Ayta of Zambales, the Tabon Caves in Palawan, and the Calatagan Peninsula in Batangas. The Fox collection measures approximately 20.2 linear feet (6.16 m). The collection includes field notes, notebooks, over 700 photographs, correspondence, stone adze illustrations, published works, theses, undergraduate as well as graduate students’ papers, newspaper clippings, maps, financial records, drafts of his books and papers, conference papers, office memos, manuscripts, and video tapes on Philippine indigenous peoples. The manuscript collection constitutes papers relating to the indigenous peoples of the Philippines: the Agta, Ati, Ayta, Badjaw, Batak, Dumagat, Ibaloy, Ibanag, Ifugao, Ilokano, Ilongot, Isneg, Manobo, Maranao, Sulod, Tagbanwa, T’boli, Tiruray, and Yakan. The manuscripts’ papers are yellowed and some are very brittle. The field notes and manuscripts are written in ink which poses problems in preservation. His field notes, all of which are in varying stages of deterioration, discusses Tagbanuwa customary laws, ethnobotany of the Pinatubo Negritos, Palawan caves, and the Dumagats. The pages are brittle and the bindings are starting to fall off. The extensive photograph collection of the Fox papers consists of aerial photos of uninhabited Palawan, the Ayta Negritos, stoneware jars, ceramic wares, Cordillera photographs, family portraits, and images of Philippine indigenous peoples. The collection also consists of manually drawn maps and jars. His correspondences with fellow American anthropologists, dating back to the early 1950s up to the year prior to his death in 1985, are another important segment of the collection. He corresponded with Henry Otley Beyer, G.H.R von Koenigswald, Daniel Scheans, Laurence Wilson, Harold Conklin, Tom Harrisson, Bill Solheim,



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Ethel Nurge, Fred Eggan, and F. Landa Jocano, to name a few. His work and aspirations are documented in the letters he sent to individuals.

Howard T. Fry Papers Dr Howard T. Fry, a British historian whose interest on the Cordillera prompted him to write A History of the Mountain Province, donated his manuscript collection to the Archives in 2008. Fry’s papers include his dissertation, handwritten notes, photocopies of correspondence on Philippine desire for independence from the US government, and published works. Manuscripts and other primary sources photocopied from US libraries and archives include the papers of David P. Barrows, Dean C. Worcester, William Cameron Forbes, Herbert Hoover, Leonard Wood, Henry L. Stimson, and President Manuel Quezon. These manuscripts were collected during the course of his research related to Philippine history during the American period. Recent additions to his collection are microfiche and microfilms of books on Philippine history written during the Spanish and American colonial periods.

Augustus U. Saboy Papers The papers of Augustus U. Saboy were donated to the UP Baguio C/NLH Archives in 2010 by his son, Scott, a faculty member of the College of Arts and Communication. Saboy, a Tinguian born in Kalinga, was a journalist who wrote for the Baguio Midland Courier, Philippine News Service, Philippine News Agency, Baguio Daily Vibrations, and the Highland Sentinel. He was also a former provincial administrator of Kalinga-Apayao province. The majority of his papers are documents related to the establishment of the Cordillera Administrative Region and attempts by the Cordillera people to establish an autonomous region. More interesting are documents on the bodong and pagta, two Cordillera indigenous political processes that are used to settle disputes to attain peace in and among tribes of Kalinga-Apayao before their separation into two provinces. The papers highlight and document actual cases of conflict resolutions and settlements through indigenous customary processes.

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Armando J. Malay Papers Professor Armando J. Malay, a giant in Philippine journalism and activism, donated his collection of notes, photographs, manuscripts, newspaper clippings, student papers, and books on Philippine anthropology, ethnohistory, folklore, and indigenous culture to the UP Baguio Library in September 1994. His out-ofprint and rare books on anthropology and the different indigenous groups have become valuable additions to the collection of the Library in efforts to provide students and researchers with important sources on Philippine ethnology and history.

Recent Additions to the Collection Recent additions to the collection include the papers of Professor Jules de Raedt, Otto Johns Scheerer, and the collection of the Cordillera People’s Alliance. De Raedt was a former member of the Congregatio Immaculati Cordis Mariae missionaries and a professor of anthropology of the College of Social Sciences. His research interest focused on the Buaya tribe of Kalinga. The de Raedt papers were donated to the Library by his heirs. His papers document the rituals and myths of the Buaya people. Also included in the collection are colour slides on the landscape of Kalinga province and the rituals performed by the group. The Cordillera People’s Alliance collection was turned over to the UP Baguio C/NLH Archives in December 2013. The papers are now called the Cordillera Mass Movement Archives in reference to the major subject matter of the documents. Highlighted in the papers are the Cordillera indigenous peoples’ struggle for self-determination and recognition of their right to their ancestral lands. The manuscripts are a collective memory and testament of the indigenous groups’ fight against former Philippine president Ferdinand E. Marcos regime’s efforts to occupy their lands and build structures like the Chico Dam all in the name of so called “development”. The collection includes research papers, monographs, photos, slides, news dispatches, statements, and other noteworthy articles on the Cordillera people’s fight against oppression. Otto Johns Scheerer was a German national who lived among the Baguio Ibalois long before the coming of the Americans. In 1900, he was appointed Provincial Secretary to the first civil governor of the Mountain Provinces. His grandson, Dr Richard Scheerer, an American medical doctor, donated and continues to play a major role in the development of the Scheerer collection. The Scheerer papers include his publications and letters that feature his life with the natives,



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his role in assisting the Americans to govern the peoples of the Mountain Provinces, and his work as a language professor at the UP.

Library and Archives Programmes and Projects The aims and objectives of the CSC Library and the C/NLH Archives parallel the stated aims and objectives of the parent organization. Programmes and projects were conceptualized to contribute to the realization of the objectives of the University. The following projects were formulated and are being implemented.

Cordillera Bibliography Project A proposal entitled “A Cordillera Bibliography: Towards Systematically Developing the Cordillera Studies Collection Library” was submitted in 2012. The purpose of the project is to compile a bibliography of works published on the Cordillera Region that are not available at the Cordillera Studies Collection Library. Because of the ever growing number of information sources that are written, published, and distributed, the Library aims as much as possible to acquire all relevant materials on the Cordillera. The end view is to make resources accessible to researchers and thus actively support the research and information needs of the members of the academic community. The idea for the proposal originated from an incident with a faculty member who came looking for materials for her research but ended up finding nothing. Prior to this incident, I presumed that the Library had an exhaustive collection of Cordillera materials since it is the only Library in the Cordillera with a sizable collection. The claim of that particular faculty member, who just came back from graduate studies in London, was that we did not have even half of the material written about the Cordillera. This claim prompted an initial survey that confirmed that there were a lot of materials not yet in the possession of the CSC Library. Although the CSC Library’s collection policy has been geared toward the acquisition of materials that support the continuing mission of the University in developing its niche in Cordillera studies, there was no defined acquisitions policy to develop the collection. Materials are purchased based on word of mouth, reviews in newspapers and magazines, and oftentimes based on recommendations from faculty members. A good number of items in the collection has been donated by faculty members, alumni, and research affiliates. Consequently, a lot of materials published escaped the attention of the librarian. This resulted in

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some gaps in the collection. A close check of popularly known bibliographies on the Cordillera namely, Manuel (1958), Saito (1972), Scott (1975a), Conklin (1968), Tumapang (1977), Fiag-oy (1980), Delson (1988), OKIR (1983) and a cursory search of available online catalogues reveal that much has been written about the Cordillera but a number of these materials are not yet in the Library. Another aim of the project is to determine gaps in the Library collection and to eventually acquire these needed materials. This project also aims to aid researchers in the conduct of relevant research and in assessing research gaps as well as areas that still need to be studied. Researchers will be able to establish what has been written about the Region and what areas still need to be researched. This project, likewise, endeavours to initiate and lay down policies that will serve as guideposts in collection development, particularly with regard to the acquisition and selection of Cordillera materials. It envisions engaging librarians in a more proactive, dynamic, and aggressive acquisitions approach that will not solely rely on faculty recommendations. This project will also involve periodically visiting libraries and keeping informed of new developments in the field of publishing considering that scholarly materials on the Cordillera may be published by small and not-so-well-known publishers, including NGOs, that do not have elaborate marketing programmes. The project initially checks published Cordillera bibliographies to determine materials not available in the Library. Aside from print bibliographies, online catalogues are checked since universities both here and abroad have collected materials with ethnic and indigenous themes. Published materials such as books, journals, and magazines are scanned for relevant materials on the Cordillera. Bibliographies of unpublished materials such as research, theses, and dissertations are evaluated for titles worth adding to the bibliography. Publications produced by the different government agencies are checked and evaluated. To date, more than 2,000 titles make up the list of Cordillera materials not yet in the possession of the Library. A number of these titles were published in the late nineteenth century, while the majority have publication dates in the twentieth century. A few are books while most of the titles are book chapters, journal articles, and unpublished research and reports. Acquisition work has already commenced. The titles have been checked online for materials that are freely available and downloadable through the internet. The Library will save financially as these online titles will not be purchased if these become available in print. The digitization project of university libraries has greatly contributed to our Cordillera bibliography project, as titles never before accessible are now available to researchers online. The University’s subscription to online databases through ProQuest, EBSCO, and JSTOR also allows for the downloading and access of needed literature. Titles that are not available online



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will have to be purchased later on. The goal of the Library to be a resource centre of Cordillera materials is becoming a realization.

Faculty Research Database Project Another project undertaken to improve the research productivity of the University is the creation of the Faculty Research Database. The project, initiated by the Chancellor, aims to gather and abstract all completed research by the faculty and enhance visibility through the UP Baguio website. Likewise, the Project targets to communicate scholarly endeavours by members of the academe and to make these endeavours accessible to the wider community. The project was started in June 2012 and was launched in February 2013. Research materials include conference papers, journal articles, book publications, and artistic works like art exhibits, plays, movie and theatre productions. Research materials are given bibliographic description, abstracts, assigned keywords, and subject headings. The database was created using open-source software. To date, more than 300 research papers have been abstracted. This initiative augments existing Cordillera literature available in the Library as a number of faculty research projects have been geared towards documenting indigenous knowledge that is slowly being forgotten or is slowly vanishing. The database features links for easy access to faculty research that is published online. Plans are under way to publish the contents of the database in book form. The Faculty Research Database can be accessed through the UP Baguio Website (UP Baguio 2015).

Archives Digitization Project The Archives Digitization Project is another project aimed at improving custody of and access to documents maintained by the Archives. Aware of the need to preserve paper-based documents in order to prolong the life of documents and, more importantly, to ensure that these sources will be available to researchers for as long as possible, the Archives has embarked on a digitization project of archives documents. This project aims to address the Archives’ problem of deterioration due to paper acidity that causes paper to become brittle. The majority of the documents are over 50 years old, yellowed, very brittle, and slowly disintegrating. The fragile nature of the materials can no longer sustain continued use and handling by researchers. Storing documents in acid-free boxes, although a standard preservation procedure, does not completely stop but only slows down deterioration. Digitization, in a way, balances the need to preserve documents and the primary

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objective of making these available to researchers. Once completed, archives documents will be made available to the wider community. The Digitization Project of the Archives has the following objectives (Villanueva 2014): 1. Preserving for posterity the indigenous knowledge, historical knowledge and culture of the indigenous/local communities in the Cordillera and Northern Luzon as seen through primary sources; 2. Digitizing the collection of the University of the Philippines Baguio Cordillera/Northern Luzon Archives and selected documents of the Cordillera Studies Collection Library; 3. Making accessible to researchers digitized copies of the collection, such as memoirs, maps, photographs, correspondences, and personal papers; 4. Preventing loss of data and information contained in the original documents that may be caused by deterioration from paper acidity and continued handling by researchers; 5. Preparing the digitized documents for future uploading to the web to ensure access through the internet by a wider audience who may be interested in the Cordillera and who may not be able to physically visit the University; 6. Aligning with the administration’s objective of modernizing processes to ensure the effective and efficient delivery of services to the academic community; 7. Creating back-up copies of Archives documents for safe keeping in case natural disasters like fire, flood, earthquake and other man-made calamities strike; 8. Jumpstarting the digitization of UP Baguio’s student, academic, historical, and administrative documents. Funds for the Digitization Project have been allotted and the Archives is in the process of purchasing a scanner and a document imaging and management system.

Cataloguing Theses and Dissertations Academic research in UP Baguio has always been encouraged, especially at the undergraduate level, through outputs like the student thesis. The three degree-granting colleges, namely the College of Arts and Communication, College of Science, and College of Social Sciences require undergraduate students to produce theses in fulfilment of their bachelor’s degree. As early as the 1980s, the College of Social Sciences required thesis submission before graduation. Later



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the College of Arts and Communication also made this a requirement as did the College of Science in early 2000. A total of 2,828 undergraduate theses has been deposited to the Library with social-science themed theses comprising a majority of the collection. Quite interestingly, a large number of theses that discuss Cordillera rituals, ceremonies, traditions, social life and customs, and indigenous knowledge have been written by students coming from the Cordillera Region. Prior to 2011, the theses collections were not supplied with subject headings; however, there was a felt need for their provision as titles are not always indicative of the subject content. Moreover, it was desired that these academic outputs can be better accessed by researchers. Currently, since subject headings are supplied based on topics provided by the Library of Congress Subject Headings list, they sometimes do not fully articulate the expressed meaning of a local term or subject topic. Local concepts or indigenous knowledge cannot be completely and fully translated to Western concepts, thereby creating difficulties in the assignment of subject headings. To partly address the issue of local terminologies, the Archives has started to scan preliminary pages of theses and added these to the bibliographic description available in the online catalogue. Abstracts can serve as search tools by providing a surrogate material that users can examine quickly for pertinent information and related literature. Other solutions to the problem of localizing subject headings are now being pursued with the end in view of improving access to the collection. Another innovation is storing these materials on open shelves where students can freely browse through the collection. The removal of barriers to physical access has tremendously improved access to the collection. Problems created by this system regarding preservation will have to be evaluated in the future.

Conclusion The Cordillera Region in northern Philippines is rich in cultural heritage, owing to its unique customs, traditions, practices, and rich indigenous knowledge that the different indigenous groups have developed and accumulated through the years. The indigenous knowledge has been developed through close examination, deep respect, and care for their environment. This knowledge has sustained them long before the coming of the Spaniards and the Americans. Their colonization under the Americans has threatened their culture including their indigenous knowledge. The American anthropologists who came to the Philippines recorded and documented their customs, traditions, beliefs, practices including their indige-

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nous knowledge with the aim of civilizing and educating the indigenous peoples. However, when the Americans left, they took with them this recorded knowledge. At present, development workers, environmentalists, scholars and researchers recognize that the indigenous knowledge of the Cordillera people is under threat. Urgent calls to collect, record and document indigenous knowledge are being made before this is lost, forgotten, altered, and before the elder members of the villages die. The papers of the early American anthropologists could help in these endeavours; however, problems of distance and copyright hinder indigenous peoples from fully accessing and utilizing these documents. Documenting and recording indigenous knowledge is not enough. Institutions like libraries and archives where recorded knowledge can be deposited and stored are necessary. It is also imperative that people are aware of the existence of such institutions that safeguard and preserve these documents. Not only this, the people should also be able to access these documents freely. Aware of these issues and problems, the UP Baguio though the CSC Library and C/NLH Archives has through the years, designed measures to preserve and make indigenous knowledge accessible to the indigenous peoples. It has started to collect, catalogue, classify, preserve, and make these information sources available to the wider public. Its bibliography project, faculty research database project, and digitization efforts are steps toward realizing this aim of making these documents available through the internet to the wider community. The Library and Archives will not stop in developing ways and means to address the problem. It will continually innovate and upgrade if only to ensure that the very fabric of Cordillera identity along with its indigenous knowledge, traditions, customs, and practices continue to survive.

References Abbass, David G., Evelyn Mathias, Ana Reylene J. Montes, Paul Mundy, Jaime P. Ronquillo and Terri Willard, eds. 1996. Recording and Using Indigenous Knowledge: A Manual. Silang, Cavite, Philippines: International Institute of Rural Reconstruction. Apolinar, Clarinda L., Faustina C. Baradas, Rogelio C. Serrano and Erlinda H. Belen, eds. 1998. People, Earth and Culture: Readings in Indigenous Knowledge Systems on Biodiversity Management and Utilization. Los Banos, Laguna, Philippines: Philippine Council for Agriculture, Forestry and Natural Resources Research and Development. Balangcod, Teodora D. 1998. “Ethnobotany of Tabaan Norte: An Initial Study.” Unpublished research report, September 1998. —. 2010. “Indigenous Plant Resources for Houses and Construction Materials used by the Kalanguya in Tinoc, Ifugao, Philippines.” The Philippine Scientist 47: 1–26.



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Balangcod, Teodora D. and Ashlyn Kim D. Balangcod. 2011. “Ethnomedical Knowledge of Plants and Healthcare Practices Among the Kalanguya Tribe in Tinoc, Ifugao, Luzon, Philippines.” Indian Journal of Traditional Knowledge 10(2): 227–238. Beyer, Henry Otley. 1924. “Ifugaos Using the World’s Most Perfect Calendar.” The Philippines Free Press 26 July: 2. Boquiren, Rowena Reyes. 1995. “Natural Resource Management Practices and Property Rights Among the Northern Kankana-ey in Bauko, Mountain Province: Interactions Between Custom Law and State Law Since the 1900s” (doctoral dissertation, University of the Philippines). —. 1998. “Managing Biodiversity: Models from the Cordillera of Northern Luzon.” Paper presented at the Symposium-Workshop on Indigenous Knowledge in Biodiversity Management and Utilization, Cebu City, Philippines, March 1998. Buangan, Antonio S. 2004. “The Suyoc People who went to St. Louis 100 Years Ago: The Search for my Ancestors.” Philippine Studies 52(2): 474–498. Cole, Fay Cooper. 1915. Traditions of the Tinguian: A Study in Philippine Folk-lore. Chicago: Field Museum of Natural History. Cole, Fay Cooper. 1922. The Tinguian: Social, Religious, and Economic Life of a Philippine Tribe. Chicago: Field Museum of Natural History. Conklin, Harold C. 1968. Ifugao Bibliography. New Haven, CT: Yale University Department of Anthropology and the Council on Southeast Asian Studies. Delson, Marcelino T. 1988. The Philippine Cordillera and its People: Review and Synthesis. Manila, Philippines: Asia Foundation. Executive Order No. 220. Creating a Cordillera Administrative Region, Appropriating Funds therefor and for other Purposes (July 15, 1987) Fiag-oy, Geraldine. 1980. Cordillera Bibliography: 1970–1980. Quezon City, Philippines: Ugnayang-Pang-Agham Tao, Inc. Fiag-oy, Geraldine, and Vernie Yocogan Diano. 2012. “Cordillera Women: Pursuing Indigenous Knowledge for Food Sovereignty.” Kali: Voice of Cordillera Women 8(1): 1–32. Fry, Howard T. 2006. A History of the Mountain Province. Revised edition. Quezon City, Philippines: New Day. Jenks, Albert Ernest. 1905. The Bontoc Igorot. Manila, Philippines: Bureau of Public Printing. Malanes, Mauricio. 2013. “Crisis in Western Paradigms Spurs Interest in Indigenous Knowledge.” Tebtebba 14: 39–40. Manuel, Esperidion Arsenio. 1958. “The Beyer Collection of Original Sources in Philippine Ethnography.” ASLP Bulletin 4(3–4): 46–66. Mendoza, Julius D. 2000. Thoughts on Indigenous Knowledge. Baguio City, Philippines: University of the Philippines College Baguio, Cordillera Studies Center. Mendoza, Lorelei C. and Mary Ann Jucotan Ladia. 1991. The Cordillera Studies Center (CSC) from June 1980 to December 1990: A Ten-Year Report. Baguio City, Philippines: Cordillera Studies Center, University of the Philippines College Baguio. OKIR: Research and Development Committee on Philippine Ethnic Arts and Crafts. 1983. Ifugao Bibliography. Revised edition. Manila, Philippines: Metropolitan Museum of Manila. Palaganas, Erlinda Castro. 1999. Mainstreaming Indigenous Health Knowledge and Practice. Baguio City, Philippines: University of the Philippines College Baguio, Cordillera Studies Center. —. 2003. Health Care Practice in the Community. Manila, Philippines: Educational Publishing House.

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Republic Act 4695. An Act Creating the Provinces of Benguet, Mountain Province, Ifugao and Kalinga-Apayao (approved June 18, 1966) Rovillos, Raymundo D. 2012. “Let us Bring UP Baguio to Greater Heights.” Unpublished vision paper for the selection of UP Baguio Chancellor. Rovillos, Raymundo D. and Cristina B. Villanueva. 2011. “A Proposed Plan for the Development of the University of the Philippines Baguio Cordillera and Northern Luzon Historical Archives.” Unpublished proposed development plan. Saito, Shiro. 1972. Philippine Ethnography: A Critically Annotated and Selected Bibliography. Honolulu: The University Press of Hawai‘i. Salvador-Amores, Analyn. 2001.“Images of the Cordillera Circa 1900’s: A Collection of Photographs by the Cordillera Studies Center.” Unpublished paper. Scott, William Henry. 1975a. Cordillera Bibliography 1972. Manila, Philippines: National Museum of the Philippines. —. 1975b. History on the Cordillera: Collected Writings on Mountain Province History. Baguio City, Philippines: Baguio Printing & Publishing. —. 1977. The Discovery of the Igorots: Spanish Contacts with the Pagans of Northern Luzon. Revised edition. Quezon City, Philippines: New Day. —. 1993. Of Igorots and Independence: Two Essays. Baguio City: ERA. Tumapang, Susan L. 1977. “The Cordillera: A Preliminary Bibliographic Survey of Materials on the Igorots” (master’s thesis, University of the Philippines Diliman). University of the Philippines (UP) Baguio. 2015. “Faculty Research Database.” http://res.pubdb. upb.edu.ph/. Accessed on 8 February 2016. University of the Philippines (UP) Baguio. 2009. Baguio Centennial Conference, 6–7 March 2009. Baguio City, Philippines: University of the Philippines Baguio, Cordillera Studies Center . University of the Philippines (UP) College Baguio. 1994. U.P. College Baguio Vision, Mission and Goals. Baguio City, Philippines: University of the Philippines Baguio. Villanueva, Cristina B. “Digitization of the Collection of the University of the Philippines Baguio Cordillera/Northern Luzon Archives: Phase I.” Unpublished project proposal, last modified 13 May 2014. Worcester, Dean Conant. 1906. “The Non-Christian Tribes of Northern Luzon.” The Philippine Journal of Science 1(8): 791–875. —. 1912. “Head-hunters of Northern Luzon.” The National Geographic Magazine 23(9): 833–930. —. 1913. “The Non-Christian Peoples of the Philippine Islands.” The National Geographic Magazine 24(2): 1157–1256. —. 1914. The Philippines: Past and Present. New York: Macmillan.

Sophy Shu-jiun Chen

20 A  Holistic Perspective on Indigenous Digital Libraries in Taiwan This paper reports on the development of Taiwan indigenous digital libraries representing sixteen groups with a total population between 500 and 40,000 indigenous people, who are Austronesian. The study reviews fifty indigenous-related projects across libraries, archives, and museums in the Taiwan E-learning & Digital Archives Program (TELDAP) over the past ten years and analyses each project’s report, related research papers, their databases, and websites. Content analysis was adopted as the research method in understanding to what extent the indigenous digital libraries have been established. Behind the content analysis, a conceptual framework used in this study consists of the six dimensions of digital library research and practice, namely Engagement, Infrastructure, Aggregation, Activation, Transformation, and Connection. The study concludes five findings of Taiwan’s indigenous digital libraries, each demonstrates: (1) typologies of indigenous digital projects in Taiwan; (2) three models of indigenous community engagement in digitization; (3) the characteristics of digital collection development; (4) the metadata interoperability of digitized collections; and (5) four approaches to access the indigenous digital library. The main contribution of the study is to provide a regional depth exploration of Taiwan indigenous digital libraries using a systematic approach that will help establish and link a more comprehensive global indigenous digital library.

Introduction There have been a number of publications in the past decade related to indigenous digital libraries, especially in Africa, Asia, Oceania, and North America. This research involves a number of foci including engagement, infrastructure, aggregation, and activation. For instance, an example of engagement is where Africa provides the model of user-generated content compiled in an indigenous digital library for community participation (Greyling and Zulu 2010; Greyling and McNulty 2012). Regarding infrastructure, the issues of digitization, access, preservation, intellectual property rights, language usage are fundamental elements to building a digital library (Nakata et al 2008; Farley 1997; Burri-Nenova 2008; Hunter 2005). For instance, Te Taka Keegan (2007) investigates how indigenous languages were used in a digital library environment in New Zealand. Toong

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Tjiek (2006) reports an initiative to document local information resources at Petra Christian University in Indonesia through the implementation of an institutional repository (IR) system. Taiwan is thought to be the founding place of Austronesian culture, as reflected in the writings of international academic Hawaiian linguistic expert Robert Blust (1988), Australian archaeologist Peter Bellwood (1980, 1983, 1988), and American human sociology scholar Jared Diamond (1988). Taiwanese indigenous tribes have preserved the ancient Austronesian language and its culture within their own language, folk culture, and tribal construct. The Harvest Festival and Ancestral Spirit Festival best represent Taiwan’s mysterious and diverse aboriginal culture with its various tribal totems. There are currently around 530,000 indigenous people in Taiwan recognized by the Taiwanese government and they represent over 2% of the total population of Taiwan. The sixteen recognized indigenous tribes are the Amis, Atayal, Paiwan, Bunun, Rukai, Puyuma, Tsou, Saisiyat, Yami (Taos), Thao, Kavalan, Truku, Sakizaya, Seediq, Hla‘alua, and Kanakanavu. The study uses TELDAP, the largest digital library project in Taiwan over the past decade, as a case study, adopting content analysis and observation methods. The study reviews fifty indigenous-related projects and initiatives in the TELDAP, analysing each project’s reports and related research papers as well as entering their databases and websites to observe the outcomes of each project. The study highlights five findings of Taiwan’s indigenous digital library. These findings demonstrate the main types of initiators engaging in the projects of indigenous digital library, their disciplines, and professional backgrounds; the models for indigenous community participation and engagement in digitization; the characteristics of digital collection development; the design and interoperability of metadata for digitized collections; and the access and information retrieval system.

Typologies and Main Constructors of Indigenous Digital Projects in Taiwan The study includes three types and twelve subtypes of indigenous digital projects as presented in Table 20.1. Type A, “Digitization,” has two subtypes including “Existing Cultural Heritage” (A1) and “Created Cultural Heritage” (A2). Type B, “Creative Re-use”, has six subtypes covering “Education & Outreach” (B1), “Game Applications” (B2), “Comics & Animations” (B3), “Thematic Websites/Online Presence” (B4), “Video & Films” (B5), and “Productions for Business” (B6). Type C, “Core Mechanism,” has four subtypes containing “Intellectual Property Rights



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(IPR) & Open Access” (C1), “Standards & Union Catalogue” (C2), “Digital Preservation” (C3) and “Digital Archives Systems” (C4). Table 20.1: Typologies of indigenous digital projects in Taiwan. Type

Subtype

Digitization

A1 Existing Cultural Heritage A2 Created Cultural Heritage B1 Education & Outreach B2 Game Applications B3 Comics & Animations B4 Thematic Websites/Online Presence B5 Video & Films B6 Productions for Business C1 IPR & Open Access C2 Standards & Union Catalogue C3 Digital Preservation C4 Digital Archives Systems

Creative Re-use

Core Mechanism

Subtype A1, for instance, is a typical digitization project that usually digitizes cultural heritage from existing physical objects. Good practice in digitization procedures and design of interoperable metadata is very important in this type of project. For example, the “Digitizing Project on the Formosan Aborigines Collection of National Taiwan Museum – Ami Group”, funded by Taiwan’s National Science Council, has developed a comprehensive standard operation procedure for their digitization project. This procedure goes from engaging digitization to completion of the whole digitization and then building an online presence service. One of the six subtypes under Type B, “Creative Re-use”, is “Game Applications” (B2). Players can learn through animation and take quizzes to accomplish missions. In addition to the pictures of handicrafts and brief introductions, players can click on “more information” to link to the “Taiwan Digital Archives” for the content specific metadata. In this way, players can further understand the materials, techniques, and production procedures used by different ethnic groups as well as the characteristics and meanings of these works. “Production for Business” (B6) is another subtype of Type B, “Creative Re-use”. The idea behind these kinds of projects is to facilitate and promote greater use of cultural heritage by creative industries. For instance, one of the projects has organized a design competition to encourage people to re-use Taiwan’s cultural heritage. It is quite surprising that indigenous materials and objects are often adopted to transform products. For instance, the salt and pepper set, one of

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the prize winning works, has been inspired by the aboriginal totems depicting the aesthetics and cultural significance of each tribe. The design of the jigsaw-puzzle pieces that interlock with each other suggests integration of these tribes. Under subtype “IPR & Open Access” (C1), a number of projects have been initiated by legal scholars concerned with the fair use and critical issues of the Indigenous Traditional Intellectual Creations Protection Act, which refers legal regulations enacted in 2007 in Taiwan to protect the Indigenous from misusing their intellectual property rights of any kind in diverse multimedia platforms (Council of Indigenous People 2007). In the process of recreating the indigenous cultural heritages as materials displaying in the digital library, it is important to recognize the right procedure regarding how to adopt related materials in a legal way against violating the rights belonging to the indigenous groups. This issue is significant to the creators and executive persons of similar digital programs, who do not have the indigenous origin. A couple of projects focus on developing the right clearance for the best practices during the digitization process in order to manage intellectual property rights and prepare for the licensing of digital contents. Figure 20.1 illustrates the rights clearance procedures. Restrictions on the use of materaials

↓

To consider which type of Intellectual Properties shall the clearance item belong to (copyright or else)

↓

To check the registration and length of copyright protection for the clearance item

↓

To clarify the subject of right(s)

↓

To check the outward use of the clearance item (Right-Out)

↓

To find out any ongoing legal disputes or related lawsuits

↓

To check whether there are any new products used and plans to use the clearance item

Figure 20.1: The Digital Archives rights clearance procedures.

The main initiators of the above-mentioned projects include university professors, museum curators, and historical and cultural workers. The disciplines cover anthropology, communication studies, library and information science, museum studies, ethnomusicology, history, linguistics, and information technology. The different subject specialties of principal investigators (PIs) of the projects led to a diversity of outcomes. For example, PIs from the field of library and informa-



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tion science tend to focus on the design and analysis of the complete digitization process and metadata sets for different types of digital collections. PIs from anthropology focus on the data collected through field work as well as how to cooperate with the local communities within the tribes in order to enhance their cultural construction and identification.

Models of the Indigenous Community Engagement How did indigenous people participate in these digital library projects? In this study, three models of indigenous community engagement have been identified in Table 20.2: (1) the project plays an active role, while the indigenous community passively participates (Model A); (2) the indigenous community plays an active role, while the project is passive (Model B); and, (3) the indigenous community and the project plan participate in collaboration together (Model C). Related research findings are discussed below. Table 20.2: Models of indigenous community engagement. Model

Project PI

Indigenous Community

Model A The project plays an active role while the indigenous community passively participates

Active

Passive

Model B The indigenous community plays an active role while the project is passive

Passive

Active

Model C The indigenous community and the project plan participate in collaboration

Collaboration

Model A Since the libraries, museums, and research organizations in Taiwan have accumulated a lot of indigenous-related cultural artifacts, many institutions hope to fully digitize their collections by means of current digital technology, sharing the important cultural assets with the general public and providing a more convenient channel for academia. Museums of anthropology or ethnology, in particular, choose collections to be digitized systematically on a large scale. These

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projects are mostly targeted at the collections of a certain institution, focusing on the digitization itself, which mainly involves two levels: one is the digitization of actual artifacts and the other is the creation of metadata as complete as possible for each artifact. Eventually, a digital library system is constructed through the planning of the museum curators while the participation of the indigenous community is lacking. In other words, the indigenous community appears to be an object being archived in this kind of project without giving opinions or participating in the project.

Model B Some indigenous communities are aware that they have to act in their own right, making the digitization project team accommodate their needs through providing related digital resources or activities. Taking the “Project on Storytelling Old Photos of the Paiwan People in Mu-Dan”, funded by Taiwan’s National Science Council, for example, the locals took the initiative to suggest the public screening of digitized films with high participation from the local indigenous communities, drawing the attention of the media. What is more important is that a lot of local discussion was stimulated with regard to the inheritance of history, culture, and through digital archive results. This would help build interactions and communications among different generations within the specific tribes. In this model, the digital library project serves more like the role of a recorder. For instance, in the afore-mentioned project, all the related information provided by the local indigenous people through the screening of films would be record by the project and become the metadata of the digital archives database after being organized and verified. In terms of accumulated cases of this film type, the scholars of the project can probe into the process of knowledge production more than fifty years ago.

Model C Collaboration is the most common model in indigenous digital library projects of Taiwan, which includes two sub-models. The first is that the project group involves indigenous scholars who can conduct research activities that demonstrate right of interpretation or autonomy. For example, the “Integrated Application and Promotional Screening Project of Audio-Visual Materials of Taiwan Pingpu Tribe in the 1930s”, funded by Taiwan’s National Science Council, is jointly headed by an anthropologist from National Taiwan University and a movie



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director of Pingpu-Kavalan ancestry. The indigenous director planned and filmed the documentary “Collected Ping-pu Memories – On Representing Kavalan and Ketagalan Voices and Images” for this project. The documentary was brought back to the tribe for screenings and seminars to reflect contemporary tribespeople’s view of the film about the past, imparting new meaning to the digital collections. This type of sub-model will be able to respond to the anthropological reflection on ethnology and museum studies, deepening these interpersonal and person-object relations that emerge with the objects to further form the concept of “digital library as a contact zone”. This means incorporating members of the tribe or community into the digital library and generating new explanations and dialogues. Through this, the collection’s social dialogue and interaction can be continued and re-created. In the second sub-model, the principal investigator of the project maps out the whole framework and content of the digital library and then invites local indigenous people to participate. For example, for the “Austronesian Music Museum: Digital Archives Project of Palau Music”, funded by Taiwan’s National Science Council, the Palauan people also contribute by having local elders assist in understanding the content of song recordings and traditional woman dance groups assist the project team in digital filming. Therefore, they are members of the project as well, helping to perfect the content of digital archives.

The Characteristics of Digital Collection Development The digitized archives include a variety of resources of all indigenous groups that are mainly first- and second-hand data from collections in the museums at home and overseas, objects collected by universities and research institutions from the field, and collections gathered by local historical and cultural workers. As shown in Table 20.3, the data types include: images (e.g., photos, films, slides, church murals, maps, collection routes, mapping manuscripts), moving image (documentaries), text (e.g., books, documents, magazines, bibliographies, contracts, manuscripts, jokes), sound (e.g., radio programmes, songs, recordings of oral history, music), interactive resources (e.g., theme websites, e-books, internet platforms, Yami Language Learning Center), collections (e.g., local teaching materials), datasets (e.g., corpora, Geographic Information System for Language Distribution, Yami dictionary, Yami Fish Ontology), and physical objects (e.g., costumes, life tools, religious and ceremonial objects).

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Table 20.3: Major data types of the indigenous digital libraries. Data Type

Subtype

Image

Photos, films, slides, church murals, maps, collection routes, mapping manuscripts Documentaries Books, documents, magazines, bibliographies, contracts, manuscripts, jokes Radio programmes, songs, recordings of oral history, music Thematic websites, e-books, internet platforms Local teaching materials Corpora, geographic information system for language distribution, dictionary, ontology Costumes, life tools, religious and ceremonial objects

Moving image Text Sound Interactive resource Collection Dataset Object

The study observes that a number of digitization projects establishing digital libraries were based on conducting systematic survey research of Taiwan indigenous cultural artifacts and image data that were scattered overseas (Table 20.4). For example, one of the digital library projects that was funded by Taiwan’s National Science Council cooperates with the Department of Ethnology in the British Museum for studying and digitizing their Taiwanese ethnographic collections of about 400 pieces. These artifacts came from two major resources: (1) the specimens of cultural artifacts collected by those pioneer travellers, consolers, or missionaries who arrived in Taiwan around the second half of the 19th century and became famous in the field of Taiwanese history, such as Robert Swinhoe and William Campell; and, (2) the Japan-British Exhibition, an international exhibition held in Shepherd’s Bush, White City, London, England in 1910. More than 300 cultural artifacts brought from Taiwan for the exhibition were later collected by the British Museum. Table 20.4: Taiwan indigenous cultural artifacts and image data scattered overseas. Overseas Institution

Major Source

Digital Content

Department of Ethnology, British Museum

Pioneer travellers, consolers, or missionaries 400 indigenous who arrived in Taiwan around the second artifacts half of the 19th century and became famous figures in Taiwanese history The Japan-British Exhibition held in Shepard’s Bush, White City, London in 1910



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Table 20.4: continued. Overseas Institution

Major Source

Digital Content

Museum of Archaeology Musicians, botanists, novelists, and Anthropology (MAA), anthropologists Cambridge University

171 indigenous artifacts; 57 images (photos, poster cards)

Pitt Rivers Museum (PRM), Oxford University

Engineers, anthropologists, photographers, teachers, missionaries

108 indigenous artifacts; 56 images (photos, poster cards)

Royal Ontario Museum (ROM)

Mainly collected by Rev. George Leslie Mackay, the first missionary in North Taiwan

136 anthropological specimens, 200 textile artifacts; 300 statues of gods.

America Museum of Natural History (AMNH)

Anthropologists, diplomats, explorers

500 ethnographic specimens (textiles, wood carvings, statues and woven baskets)

University of Michigan Anthropologists Museum of Anthropology (UMMA)

80 ethnographic specimens

The National Science Council-funded digital collections of the indigenous-related projects from the TELDAP come from academia, Council of Indigenous Peoples of the government, cultural heritage institutions, local indigenous people or studios, and through international collaboration with the United Kingdom, Canada, United States, Japan, and the Republic of Palau. There are more than 110,000 digitized materials and over thirty databases and websites. It is obvious that the PIs can enhance knowledge of early Taiwanese material life and create a better network to access information overseas through examining archives, analyzing objects, taking photos, and developing digital databanks and Internet connections.

The Metadata for Digital Collections The design of metadata in these projects shows a variety of practices. Each project can design their own metadata format and adopt different standards of controlled

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vocabularies according to their needs. For example, a music-oriented project (funded by Taiwan’s National Science Council) considers a full range of metadata types including descriptive, administrative, and structural metadata. Meanwhile, one of the museum-based projects only focuses on descriptive metadata. and one of the projects develops comprehensive elements to describe each item of the collection. Although there are different metadata formats belonging to each digital library project, all of the projects need to contribute their digitized materials with metadata to the Union Catalogue while constructing their own databases and adapting their metadata formats (funded by Taiwan’s National Science Council) into the Dublin Core standard. According to the study, each project would be based on at least one international standard, mainly Dublin Core (DC), Categories for the Description of Works of Art (CDWA), the international Core Data Standard for Ethnology/Ethnography published by the International Council of Museums (CIDOC) and MAchine-Readable Cataloging (MARC). These metadata formats were adapted or extended according to individual project need. Taking the aforesaid “Digitizing Project on the Formosan Aborigines Collection of National Taiwan Museum – Ami Group” for example, in addition to using various standards such as DC, CDWA, and CIDOC, the projects also add some elements to match the collection management system of the museum. That fully describes and reflects the historical depth of the collections. The established metadata elements include eleven main elements and fifty nine sub-elements. One of the main elements, “function/meaning”, for example, has seven sub-elements, which are function, maker, technical method, user, usage/ occasion, style/characteristic, and cultural meaning. These elements can all be mapped into the description element of the Dublin Core format. For a more detailed example, see Figure 20.2 for an image of the “ceremonial pot” under the website of Taiwan Digital Archives and Table 20.5 for the associated metadata.

Figure 20.2: Ceremonial pot (Taiwan Digital Archives AT 1050).1 1 http://catalog.digitalarchives.tw/item/00/3a/d9/30.html. Accessed on 16 March 2016.



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Table 20.5: Selected metadata elements of the ceremonial pot.

Function/Meaning

Element (Data Structure)

Definition

Data Value (CV, Controlled Vocabulary)

Function

The actual use of the object

Ceremonial object (CV)

Maker

The maker of the object

Only women can make pottery

Technical Method

Techniques used to make the object

Hand built, fired (CV)

User

Whether or not the object is only used by a certain class or gender in the culture

Priests (CV)

Usage/ Occasion

The method and occasion of using the object

Used by priests in ritual ceremonies

Style/ Evaluating the Characteristic overall style of the object

This is a common type of ceremonial pot that has a long spout and neck. The brim is bent inward toward the upper half of the body and flared to form a shoulder, then turned inward and expanded outward toward the bottom to make a corresponding lower half.

Cultural Meaning

Used by Ami priests in the ritual ceremonies to serve meat or alcohol. This is a common type of ceremonial pot that has a long spout and neck.

The meaning of the object in the culture

Access to the Indigenous Digital Library The indigenous-related digital resources produced by the TELDAP can all be searched and browsed through the “Taiwan Digital Archives” portal. According to the study, there are four types of access, as shown in Table 20.6: portals, the Union Catalogue, thematic website, and value-added applications.

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Table 20.6: Approaches to access the Indigenous Digital Library. Approach

Feature

Portals Union Catalogues Thematic Websites Value-added Applications

Collection-level digital materials Item-level digital materials Various focuses of indigenous digital libraries Creative reuse of digital materials

The “Union Catalogue”, for instance, aggregates indigenous digital assets together. It allows users to browse and access more than 120,000 digital objects by popular keywords or ethnic groups. Each record of the Union Catalogue contains metadata based on the Dublin Core standard; digital images; resource links directing to the original data for more detailed metadata content or larger image files; contacts for licensing; citations; recommended related collections; and social media functions (e.g., rating, recommendation). In addition, all of the digital objects are rights-labelled, with more than one-third of them as public domain including licensed under Creative Commons. Next is the presentation of indigenous digital resources through introductions and stories providing related collections in the Union Catalogue as extended reading. Another approach of thematic websites contains digital libraries and databases constructed by various projects, such as the Aboriginal Media Database in Lanyu. The following approach is installation a variety of creative value-added forms, such as the interactive online game programs, by cultural creative talents or teams to represent the indigenous digital archives. By means of creating an interactive way of approach, users can learn more indigenous digital materials from those creative applications. For example, “The Adventure into Taiwan Indigenous Handicrafts” in the Taiwan Digital Archives is a game that introduces four indigenous handicrafts: weaving, pottery, sculpture and embroidery, based on the digital content of four indigenous digital libraries, as shown in Figure 20.1. Users can watch animations and take quizzes to collect treasures to accomplish missions for each stage. In addition to the pictures of handicrafts and brief introductions, users can click on “more information” to link to the item’s metadata in Taiwan Digital Archives. Through this game, users are able to learn knowledge related to indigenous handicrafts, and further their understanding of the materials, techniques, and production procedures used by different ethnic groups, as well as the characteristics and meaning of their works. Furthermore, the TELDAP has formed a group to produce publications in the Creative Comic Collection that cooperated with cross-domain experts including cartoonists, illustrators and playwrights to use the indigenous materials of the Taiwan Digital Archives to



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create a variety of comics with fascinating themes and stories. When audiences read the comics, they are able to see the information from the original archive on the book, and later visit the digital libraries to explore more details. This model could be regarded as a transformation from digital materials to a creative cultural product.

Conclusion This report has reviewed the development of the indigenous digital libraries under TELDAP in the past ten years. In this study, the research identifies five focuses: engagement, infrastructure, aggregation, activation, and transformation. Engagement summarizes two types of main project creators and their disciplines and three models for indigenous community participation during the digital project. Infrastructure provides a close look at the characteristics of digital collection development and the interoperable metadata design. Aggregation depicts the Union Catalogue and theme websites. The focus of activation presents how the indigenous databases can be activated for the public. Transformation further shows how digital materials can be transformed into a creative cultural product. The main contribution of the study is to provide a regional depth exploration of Taiwan indigenous digital libraries using a systematic approach that will help establish and link a more comprehensive global indigenous digital library.

Acknowledgments Funding for this work was provided by the National Science Council (Grant number NSC103-3113-P-001-002).

References Bellwood, Peter S. 1980.“The Peopling of the Pacific.” Scientific American 243: 174–185. —. 1983. “New Perspectives on Indo-Malaysian Prehistory.” Bulletin of the Indo-Pacific Prehistory Association 4: 71–83. —. 1988. “A Hypothesis for Austronesian Origins.” Asian Perspectives 26(1): 107–117. http:// scholarspace.manoa.hawaii.edu/bitstream/10125/16922/1/AP-v26n1-107-117.pdf. Accessed on 10 February 2016.

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Blust, Robert. 1988. “The Austronesian Homeland: A Linguistic Perspective.” Asian Perspectives 26(1): 45–67. http://scholarspace.manoa.hawaii.edu/ bitstream/10125/16918/1/AP-v26n1-45-67.pdf. Accessed on 10 February 2016. Burri-Nenova, Mira. 2008. “The Long Tail of the Rainbow Serpent: New Technologies and the Protection and Promotion of Traditional Cultural Expressions.” In Intellectual Property and Traditional Cultural Expressions in a Digital Environment, edited by Christoph Beat Garber and Mira Burri-Nenova, 205–236. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar. Council of Indigenous People of R.O.C. Taiwan. 2007. “The Indigenous Traditional Intellectual Creations Protection Act.” Last modified 7 January 2015. http://www.apc.gov.tw/portal/ docDetail.html?CID=74DD1F415708044A&DID=3E651750B4006467ED2448008F383655. Accessed on 10 February 2016. Diamond, Jared M. 1998. “Express Train to Polynesia.” Nature 336: 307–308. Farley, Christine Haight. “Protecting Folklore of Indigenous Peoples: Is Intellectual Property the Answer?” Connecticut Law Review 30(1): 1–57. Available at SSRN: http://ssrn.com/ abstract=923410. Accessed on 13 February 2016. Greyling, Elizabeth, and Sipho Zulu. 2010. “Content Development in an Indigenous Digital Library: A Case Study in Community Participation.” IFLA Journal 36(1): 30–39. Greyling, Elizabeth and Niall McNulty. 2012. “How to build an Indigenous Digital Library through Community Participation: The Case of the Ulwazi Programme.” In Information for Sustainable Development, 400–410. Nairobi: Kenya Library Association and Goethe Institut. Hunter, Jane. 2005. “The Role of Information Technologies in Indigenous Knowledge Management.” Australian Academic & Research Libraries 36(2): 113–128. Keegan, Te Taka Adrian Gregory. 2007. “Indigenous Language Usage in a Digital Library: He hautoa kia ora tonu ai.” (doctoral dissertation. University of Waikato). Nakata, Martin, Vicky Nakata, Gabrielle Gardiner, Jill McKeough, Alex Byrne and Jason Gibson. 2008. “Indigenous Digital Collections: An Early Look at the Organisation and Culture Interface.” Australian Academic & Research Libraries 39(4): 223–236. Taiwan e-Learning & Digital Archives Program, TELDAP Academia Sinica. 2015. “Taiwan Digital Archives.” http://catalog.digitalarchives.tw/. Accessed on 11 May 2015. Toong Tjiek, Liauw. 2006. “Desa Informasi: The Role of Digital Libraries in the Preservation and Dissemination of Indigenous Knowledge.” The International Information & Library Review 38(3): 123–131.

Indri Pasaribu

21 Indigenous Digital Oral History An Overview

Overview The literature on the topic of oral history has become well developed in recent decades. However, there is no cohesive definition of what digital oral history means, what it encompasses, and its meaning in the indigenous context in particular. If indigenous knowledge is owned by indigenous peoples themselves, then it is critical to understanding how their knowledge is transmitted in the format of new technologies. In addition, indigenous peoples are perceived differently in North America and Asia, which influences the types of Indigenous oral history projects being produced. This paper will address three areas: what digital oral history is; an overview of some indigenous digital oral history describing some differences between projects in North America and Asia; and, lastly, what the main concerns are in doing oral history projects in digital forms.

Methodology The term “indigenous digital oral history” includes a variety of overlapping concepts: oral history, indigenous research and digitization projects. In this research I have attempted to survey current and past projects. I conducted this survey through communicating with individuals as well as in examining published materials. I contacted oral historians working at the intersection of the library field and indigenous communities, whom I identified by having read their published works. I also posted inquiries on relevant oral history listservs in an attempt to find individuals associated with projects that may not have been discussed in printed materials. These electronic lists included GroundSwell: Oral History for Social Change Network, as well as the oral history listserv of H-Net: Humanities and Social Sciences Online. I conducted a literature survey of relevant journal articles as well as printed materials available in Canada in an attempt to determine patterns and definitions of various types of indigenous digital oral history. The common thread that I found in the examples of digital indigenous oral history projects I have encountered through my research was a focus on the preservation of indigenous knowledge. As such, digital oral history as a method of

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preservation of indigenous knowledge became the basis of this research. Ultimately, my literature search and interviews resulted in a core group of digital oral history projects in North America and Asia that focus on indigenous peoples.

Digital Oral History Projects The concept of digital oral history includes a variety of knowledge retention processes. Technological advancement has made it possible for oral knowledge to be preserved in very sophisticated yet accessible ways that were not possible with oral history interviews in the past. Furthermore, due to this technological advancement, there is no cohesive understanding of what the term “digital oral history” means or what it encompasses. There are institutions that have started to specialize in digital oral history such as the Oral History in the Digital Age resource repository created by the Institute of Museum and Library Services (IMLS 2015). Yet repositories such as these do not generally cover this type of indigenous knowledge preservation work. Institutional repositories with a focus on indigenous knowledge preservation work would involve the application of oral history techniques to indigenous communities in ways that bring up new ethical and social concerns.

Oral History versus Indigenous Knowledge Preservation Oral history is generally defined as the documenting of history or particular events in history through recorded interviews with people who have lived through the events (Ritchie 2003). Using the aforementioned definition, therefore, personal narrative of an event is, generally speaking, the defining feature of oral history. Oral history may also support the establishment of historical fact by professional historians and other academics. However, for indigenous peoples and, in particular, indigenous peoples with an oral tradition, this definition is only a small part of the picture. Where indigenous knowledge is concerned, oral history is not simply the recording of particular historical events. As Trimble, Sommer and Quinlan point out in their book, The American Indian Oral History Manual (2008,16), “Traditional information ... is part of a person’s memory but does not necessarily contain first-person facts about the indi-



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vidual retaining it ... With traditional information, ownership may not rest with the person who has the knowledge (memory) but can be more accurately said to belong to a family, clan, or tribe as a memory heirloom.” Within the context of indigenous knowledge, traditional information and memory belong to the collective, endowing traditional knowledge in the form of oral history with significance beyond personal narrative.

Categories One can consider many types of indigenous knowledge preservation works to be digital oral history. The following categories illustrate the types of indigenous oral history projects that I will discuss in this chapter.

Digitized Oral History Collections The most common evidence of digital oral history is the digitization of analogue oral history collections. There are ample examples both in North America and Asia. However, not all digitized oral history collections are the same. Some are based on more sophisticated protocols that centre indigenous people in ownership of the materials in the collection and others are simple digitization projects consisting of posting oral interviews online.

Film-making and Born-Digital Oral Interviews Film-making may also be derived from oral history preservation projects. Many indigenous film-makers interview their elders as a way to preserve their traditional knowledge. Some end products of oral history take on the form of edited films meant to be watched by an audience while others are archival video material consisting of entire interviews.

Digital Storytelling Digital storytelling is a genre of grassroots film-making that puts emphasis on first-person narrative and emotion using a combination of visuals, sound, and stories to tell that narrative. Most commonly, researchers and activists gather par-

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ticipants to tell their personal narratives on a certain topic of interest such as residential school or climate change. This type of storytelling is a great tool for archiving, advocacy, and research as it often has overarching theme or narrative as opposed to mere archives of disparate interviews.

Language-preservation Digital Oral History Projects One of the many purposes of oral history projects is language preservation. Colonization, globalization, as well as migration of populations are some of the causes of language loss. Language preservation is an important facet of oral history projects, as oral history depends on language for traditional knowledge to be transmitted. Technological advancements such as mobile apps have made language-preservation projects innovative.

Community and Cultural Mapping Community and cultural mapping in digital format is a new application of existing forms of geographic representation of traditional knowledge which integrates the possibilities of computer-supported data aggregation with the oral knowledge of communities. Because indigenous peoples are inextricably tied to their lands, being able to connect the language, traditional knowledge, and cultures directly to maps of indigenous lands has long been an important part of the representation of knowledge. As an example of a digital application, a Google mapping project with an indigenous tribe in British Columbia is able to layer the traditional names of geographical locations along with markings of sacred territories on top of the geographical map (Hunter 2014). This project will be discussed at length in a later section.

Digital Libraries of Traditional Medicine and Plants Digital libraries of traditional medicine and plants depart slightly from the other types of oral history projects mentioned above. Yet, this is an important type of work particularly in the context of indigenous peoples where their traditional knowledge of medicine, often passed down from one generation to the next in oral form, may be stolen by pharmaceutical corporations for financial gain, with devastating loss for the indigenous communities themselves (Merson 2000).



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Case Studies Digitized Oral History Collections A web search of “digital oral history” is likely to result in a listing of repositories of digitized analogue oral history projects. In an indigenous context, these repositories represent an incredible wealth of digitized oral history about Native American individuals, communities, and tribes. For instance, many universities offer digitized oral history projects on their websites, such as the University of Hawaiʻi (University of Hawaiʻi 2016). Museums and libraries also often digitize their collections; examples include the Mesa Historical Museum (2015) and the National Library of Australia (2016). IMLS also has a digital repository of digitized oral history projects (IMLS 2015). While the collections found on the websites of these organizations are not specifically Native American focused, many interviews with Native Americans speaking about their communities and tribes exist in these collections. Nevertheless, these are not indigenous digital oral history projects. These collections often include interviews conducted by researchers not from the communities being interviewed and are often for research not beneficial to the community or without the consent of the source community. Still, there are occasionally digitized oral history projects done by indigenous individuals in such repositories. An example of a project like this is OurVoices. ca. According to the website, “The OurVoices.ca website is intended to provide access to a wealth of audio material on the history and culture of the People of Canada” (OurVoices.ca 2015). From this introduction, it is not clear whether this website will eventually expand its collection, but it currently consists mainly of Louis Bird retelling the oral tales of the Omushkegowak people of Northern Manitoba and Ontario. According to the website, Bird is from Peawanuck, Ontario, and documented Cree legends and oral history since the mid-1960s, eventually building the largest such collection of such audiotape recordings (OurVoices.ca 2015). Samplings of these recordings, which (perhaps atypically for oral history repositories) are stated to belong to Louis Bird himself rather than the researchers, are on the OurVoices.ca website. This is an example of knowledge ownership resting with indigenous individuals or communities which differentiates it from other forms of oral history where the interviewee signs over the rights to interviews and loses the ability to have input (Potter and Romano 2012). In addition to these digitized recordings, the book Telling Our Stories: Omushkego Legends and Histories from Hudson Bay (Bird and Brown 2005) includes many of these stories. This book is a collaboration between Louis Bird and researchers at the University

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of Winnipeg and it provides more contexts for the stories told in the recordings on OurVoices.ca. Oral historians from Asia interviewed for this paper mainly consider digital oral history to refer to digitized analogue oral history projects such as those found in university or government repositories. For instance, the National Archives of Singapore has an extensive collection of oral history interviews that have been digitized and made available online (2015). Many of the interviews archived in this repository concern traditional knowledge and culture although they are not always explicitly stated to be interviews with indigenous people. There are also other more current and ongoing projects in the Asia-Pacific region. For instance, the Vanuatu Cultural Centre1 is currently working to digitize their audiovisual, audio, and photographic collections – numbered in thousands – to be made available online. This effort is in partnership with Service de Coopération et d’Action Culturelle of the French Embassy. As with other digitized oral history collections mentioned previously, digital oral history collections such as the Vanuatu Cultural Centre collection is not presented as indigenous-specific, but contains indigenous content in the framework of national heritage.

Film-making and Born-Digital Oral Interviews In the context of community-based oral history projects, film-making is both a powerful and relatively affordable way to create instantaneously accessible oral history projects. Video oral history interviews are now more commonplace than the traditional audio-only oral history interviews. An example of this type of oral history project is the work of Dr Judy Iseke. Iseke is the Canada Research Chair in Indigenous Knowledge and Research and an Associate Professor in the Faculty of Education, Lakehead University, where she teaches graduate courses in Aboriginal and Indigenous Studies in Education. Iseke has made several films and produced them herself through Voices in the Wind productions and online (Iseke 2016). Many of her films, such as Grandmothers of the Metis Nation, focus on indigenous elders. As Iseke wrote in her article “Indigenous Digital Storytelling in Video: Witnessing with Alma Desjarlais.” she created these films to share the responsibility of “witnessing [the] history” of colonialism with the viewers (Iseke 2011, 321). Film- and video-based oral history projects are increasingly appealing to organizations and communities because the process can be more cost-effective and the project can be instantaneously shared with the public. They are well 1 http://vanuatuculturalcentre.vu/. Accessed on 10 February 2016.



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suited for community-based history preservation due to the advent of crowdsourcing. One such effort is called Telling Their Stories: Oral History Archives Project (OHAP), in which students of the Urban School of San Francisco collect, archive, and publish community oral history (Urban School of San Francisco 2016). OHAP has yet to involve Native American students, elders, or communities, but it has an important place in how an oral history project can be executed and accessed. As Howard Levin wrote (2011, 8): Oral history collection within the U.S. has, until now, been relegated primarily to collecting stories that reside in personal archives, or tucked away in university and museum collections closed to the general public. Interviews have also historically been recorded only via audio and published via text. And of course, examples of student-conducted, -produced, and -published oral histories are generally distributed no further than, at most, within school archives or family projects.

The fact that anyone can access these stories online means that OHAP is reaching far beyond the walls of academia. Oral history also involves crowdsourcing in China, where censorship is prevalent and working on the issue of traditional knowledge preservation and ethnic memories has been generally discouraged. Censorship in art, as well as state-controlled art-making, has a long history in China, originating in time of Mao (Urban 2010). Film-making and born-digital oral history have become a relatively easy and affordable way to ensure that a history is not forgotten. An example of works that aims to preserve memory of historical events are films from the Folk Memory Project made by Chaochangdi Workstation art space, a grassroots organization founded by filmmaker Wu Wenguang. This organization trains young people from rural areas to return to their villages to do interviews and video recording, both to discover the history of a village or to record its changes over time. Many of the films that have resulted from this project are documentaries about the death toll during the Great Famine of the late 1950s and early 1960s in the participants’ own villages (Cahalane 2012). The history around the Great Famine as well as other tragedies that occurred during the Mao era are still being censored by the government and, as such, the act of preserving memories of these events is an act of defiance against the state. Many of the films created through Chaochangdi Workstation art space have been shown in film festivals and art galleries in China and internationally. In this way, the history that the Chinese government often attempts to censor is still being told and remembered. Another example of a born-digital oral history project in Asia is by the Evergreen Education Foundation. The Foundation was founded in 2001 by a group of Chinese and American professionals and academics. Its purpose is to enhance educational opportunities for middle- and high-school children in rural China

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(Evergreen Educational Foundation 2016). One of the Foundation’s methods is to engage the rural school children that they work with in conducting oral history in their own communities. One of their current oral history projects is with TianZhu no. 1 High School. The Foundation, in collaboration with oral historians and experts, gives the high school students the opportunity to develop their research capabilities as well as to learn their own history through doing oral history. The students and teachers work collaboratively to design, implement, and collect oral history and folk culture, form a digital archive, and display and promote the collection through the media and online. Beyond creating oral history with high school students, the Evergreen Education Foundation also supports independent researchers doing oral history with rural and indigenous Chinese. An example of this is the work that Maolin Tian and Xinjian Xu are currently working on, “The Preservation of Traditional Value System of Sichuan Migrant Tibetan” (Tian and Xu, 2014). Although Tibetans traditionally live in the Tibetan Autonomous Region, many of them have migrated to other parts of China. This oral history project pertains to the Tibetans who have migrated to the Sichuan province and, based on interviews with four such migrants, attempts to examine how Tibetan cultures are being preserved by these individuals. Although this work is still in its early phases, it will be included as part of the larger oral history repository that the Evergreen Education Foundation is working towards, and it is an essential effort in preserving indigenous memory (Yu Zhang, pers. comm. 14 December 2014).

Digital Storytelling Digital storytelling describes a particular method that was pioneered and refined by the Center for Digital Storytelling in Berkeley, California in the mid-1990s. Digital storytelling refers to a type of oral history in which participants of the project create a three- to five-minute short film that synthesizes still images, video, voice recordings, music or sound, and text. The stories created are used for a range of purposes, from empowering the participants through personal reflection and literacy development, to informing public policy and advocacy support work. What is appealing about digital storytelling is its centring of the personal narrative. As the article explains, digital storytelling is “a way to celebrate the individual and the collective, and to lend respect and credence to the lived experiences of individuals through the collective co-creating of individual narratives, and provides participants with the opportunity to work together, tell and share stories, listen to other, and learn” (Willox, Harper and Edge 2012, 132).



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There are many examples of digital storytelling done with and by indigenous peoples. An example is Six Nations ECHOES (Digital Storytelling Toronto 2010b). According to the website, “this project is sponsored by the Six Nations Health Foundation Inc., and its mandate is to work with Haudenosaunee elders and youth making digital stories. These stories are then used for cultural awareness workshops in schools in the Haldimand region. This digital storytelling project was conducted in partnership with Digital Storytelling Toronto. The organization also helped to create another indigenous digital storytelling project led by the Inuit Rigolet Community” (Digital Storytelling Toronto 2010a). The digital storytelling collection was led by the Rigolet Inuit Community Government in Nunatsiavut to document the impacts of climate change on human health and well-being, and sharing adaptation strategies. Furthermore, digital storytelling is inherently political in that the personal narratives of the individuals taking part in the project become part of a collective voice delivering a particular message. Because of its community-engaging format, digital storytelling has gained popularity in indigenous rights movements and social justice movements in general. An example of digital storytelling is found in the works of EngageMedia. EngageMedia is a non-profit media, technology, and culture organization that uses video technologies to create social and environmental change. Most of this organization’s digital storytelling projects are done in cooperation with marginalized groups in the Asia-Pacific region, including indigenous peoples. For instance, EngageMedia has a digital oral history project working with West Papuans, indigenous people who are still currently living under the repression of the Indonesian government (EngageMedia 2011). A notable difference between digital storytelling and other digital oral history projects is that digital storytelling has an overarching theme which can be explicitly political on a particular topic or cause. As illustrated by EngageMedia and Digital Storytelling Toronto, these themes range from environmental justice to indigenous autonomy.

Language-preservation Digital Oral History Projects Indigenous tribes or nations often cite language preservation as one of the reasons they are looking to start oral history. One of the many devastating effects of colonization is the loss of language. Language preservation is often seen by indigenous people as an important element in the preservation of indigenous cultures. Because both indigenous peoples and language experts have undertaken language-preservation efforts since before the dawn of digital technologies, there

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is now a wide range –especially in terms of technological sophistication ­– of language-preservation digital oral history. An example of an early effort in language preservation is the Tanana Tribal Council Project Jukebox, which has been updated by the Oral History Program at the University of Alaska Fairbanks since its inception in the early 90s (University of Alaska Fairbanks 2009). This Jukebox has a language lesson on its website. The language lesson is organized by month and consists of lists of phrases. This Jukebox can be seen as an early prototype of current digital language preservation projects of today. A more sophisticated web-based language-learning project is that of FirstVoices.2 FirstVoices is a web-based tool aimed to support First Nations people language revitalization work. This web-based tool has a collection of languages from many parts of Canada, with a concentration of language collection in British Columbia, the region in Canada with the most diversity of indigenous languages. Users access the language by searching a map or list of Canadian regions, then clicking the name of the language group displayed on the map. After clicking on the name there is an introduction to the people who speak the language as well as links for language-learning tools and games. What differentiates FirstVoices from Project Jukebox is that some contents are password-protected and can only be accessed by the self-defined appropriate members of First Nations. Another example of a digital language-preservation effort is that of the Cherokee Nation (Baker 2014). According to Baker, the Cherokee Nation has worked with high-tech companies such as Apple, Google, and Microsoft to create multi-platform language mobile applications. Their innovative work has inspired other indigenous tribes such as the Muskogee Creek Nation to do similar work in language preservation. While there are many examples of innovative uses of language preservation in digital forms in North America, there are not many well-established examples to be found in Asia. However, some technologically advanced language archives of endangered languages of Asia are housed elsewhere. For instance, the Endangered Languages Archive (ELAR), housed by the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) in London, is an endangered-language archive that uses social networking concepts to give meaningful access to materials to both researchers and language speakers. Although not located in Asia, ELAR has a significant collection of Asian and other languages (Turin, Wheeler and Wilkinson 2013). This is not to say that there are no language-preservation efforts being made in Asia. One example is the Ainu Language archive, an initiative of the Ainu Museum located in Hokkaido, Japan (Ainu Museum 2014). This language archive 2 http://www.firstvoices.com. Accessed on 20 May 2015.



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is a community-driven project funded by a charitable organization, Kodomo Yume Kikin, that funds programmes for children and youth educational curriculum development. This Japanese-language website consists of digitized audio recordings of Ainu elders retelling oral folk stories that are then translated into Japanese. Some of these stories are also turned into picture books for children, written in Japanese, that are then reproduced online. Linguists consider Ainu to be a critically endangered language as most of the language variants (except Hokkaido Ainu) have completely disappeared. This Ainu language archive, therefore, has an important place in the preservation of indigenous knowledge. The Archive of Endangered Languages and Cultures of Asia (AILCA) is another example of a language-preservation project, which is currently being developed by Nanyang Technological University in Singapore. This will be the first digital archive for endangered languages to be set up in Asia. “The organization will place emphasis on the maintenance or even revitalization of the languages through the creation of school and other educational materials and by supporting local/regional language centres, for example, by storing their data so that it is safeguarded for posterity and then either making the material available online or creating complete copies of materials to return to the communities” (Digital Intangible Heritage in Asia 2010).

Community and Cultural Mapping The identities of indigenous peoples are often tied to their land and, in turn, reflected in the significance of their oral history projects. As Erica-Irene Daes remarked, on behalf of the UN Working Group on Indigenous Populations (1997, 3): Indigenous peoples regard all products of the human mind and heart as interrelated and as flowing from the same source: the relationship between people and their land, their kinship with other living creatures that share the land and with the spirit world. Since the ultimate source of knowledge is the land itself, all of the art and science of a specific people are manifestations of the same underlying relationships, and can be considered as manifestations of the people as a whole.

Due to this interrelatedness, oral history preservation that capture the link between the oral history and traditional knowledge to the land from which it came are especially important. There are a range of indigenous community mapping projects and types of knowledge being mapped. For instance, some projects map traditional stories whereas other link knowledge of traditional medicine to maps. The type of mapping also varies in technological sophistication. Some mapping

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projects consist of a map with clickable links, while others involve GIS-mapping technology. An example of a community mapping project is the web exhibit created by the Doig River First Nation (Virtual Museum of Canada 2007). While the virtual museum they have created, titled “Dane Wajich Dane-zaa Stories and Songs: Dreamers and the Land”, is centred on their sacred stories and songs, the project acknowledges its link to their land. One of the main ways to access these stories is through a map that users can click on to find songs and stories related to the chosen point on the map. Another First Nation of British Columbia, Canada, has also mapped their oral history and traditional knowledge using Google Earth. Stz’uminus First Nation, in partnership with Google and anthropologists from the University of Victoria, built a multi-layer map of sacred stories and lands. This map has multiple access points with restricted access of secret knowledge meant only for members of the Nation. Google’s assistance with indigenous mapping got its start in 2007 working with the Surui tribe from Brazil (Hunter 2014). Another example of an indigenous community mapping project was carried out by the Philippine Association for Intercultural Development (PAFID). PAFID is a social development organization that works with indigenous communities in regaining and securing their ancestral lands. One of their projects was working with indigenous peoples of the northern Mindanao region, through mapping projects to identify and claim their ancestral domains. Because traditional knowledge is often transmitted orally, a project to map this knowledge, such as the one carried out by PAFID, is an important tool for the empowerment of indigenous peoples (Di Gessa, Poole, and Bending 2008). While the concept of mapping indigenous knowledge is not new, the ability to control access to theis information is central to all of the indigenous-led community mapping projects mentioned above.

Digital Libraries of Traditional Medicine and Plants Digital libraries of traditional medicine and plants depart slightly from the culturally based oral history projects that this chapter has discussed at length because this knowledge is often orally transmitted. The development of these digital libraries is immeasurably important for indigenous peoples, as they often face the theft of their knowledge of traditional medicine by pharmaceutical companies. India is at the forefront of this work, where a Traditional Knowledge Digital Library has been developed by Council of Scientific and Industrial Research and the Department of Ayurveda, Yoga and Naturopathy, Unani, Siddha and Homoe-



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opathy. The repository contains information on 36,000 formulations used in Ayurveda. The Library uses a classification system similar to that used by the International Patent Classification (IPC), created to prevent patent violations. Many other South Asian countries are planning to follow suit in creating similar traditional knowledge digital libraries (Gupta 2011). Another example is eToro, a project conducted in Malaysia to identify and preserve the knowledge of traditional plants. It is an indigenous knowledge preservation system developed by the University of Malaysia Sarawak to preserve the botanical knowledge of the indigenous people living in Long Lamai. In developing this documentation tool, the researchers, who also involved Long Lamai diaspora in the project, are committed to centring the rights of indigenous peoples to their information. While researchers and contributors have completed this project, it is not accessible to the public and it is only available in its entirety to the elders of Long Lamai (Zaman and Yeo 2012).

Digital Oral History and Ethics As with many academic or social projects, ethical concerns arise when working on digital oral history. Technology to record and upload oral history has advanced quickly and oral historians continue to explore questions of responsibility. Ethical considerations differ depending on the type of digital oral history. One pertinent question is regarding the ethics in digitizing oral history interviews whose subjects have died before digitization was even a possibility. Larson discusses this concern and others that arose with the ubiquity of the internet. She explores how the University of Alaska Fairbanks, an institution that has an extensive online oral history collection, only publishes the oral history interviews for which they have received explicit consent to be published online. They receive this consent by re-contacting people they have interviewed. Publishing only materials with explicit consent is one way that an institution may work around the ethical dilemma of digitizing oral history interviews (Larson 2013). Larson also discusses the lack of control institutions have over materials available online and, specifically, over how these materials are used. While most institutions claim copyright to any materials they produce online, the risk is still present. Some institutions publish only their finding aids online so that they still have contact with researchers who intend to use their materials (Larson 2013). However, an institution’s desire for control of their materials may not have indigenous people’s best interests in mind. Despite the risk of copyright infringement and misuse, technological advancement makes it possible for digital oral history projects to centre indigenous people and their access to their own materials.

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In Oral Literature in the Digital Age: Archiving Orality and Connecting With Communities, Turin, Wheeler, and Wilkinson (2013) raise concerns regarding interview subjects’ access to materials produced out of their interviews. The book highlights ELAR as an example of a project that attempts to give language speakers and community members access to materials about their own endangered languages using conventions popularized by social networking applications. For instance, the archivists note the fact that many of the language speakers may not have institutional access to the archives and they, therefore, make an effort to provide special access. In other words, the archive system is user driven, with multiple points of access according to the needs of the user (Turin, Wheeler, and Wilkinson 2013). Access is one of the main ethical considerations surrounding digital oral history, regardless of the medium. Whether or not the intended audience and the subjects will be able to access the content is at the forefront of much oral history work. However, many indigenous peoples consider whether to allow access to their history, sacred stories, and songs that traditionally may only be accessed by certain tribal members. The structure and accessibility protocols must reflect this choice. Some examples of member-defined access can be seen in the FirstVoices project where some of the information is password protected. This is also exemplified in the Stz’uminus First Nation project with Google Earth. Why is the need for control of access to information important to indigenous peoples? One reason may be that indigenous peoples are sometimes wary of sharing their knowledge with anyone without knowing where it will end up. There are countless instances in which indigenous knowledge has been appropriated for profit while the indigenous group is left impoverished, such as the case of India attempting to trademark its botanical knowledge. The concern for how indigenous knowledge is accessed is manifest in Mukurtu. Mukurtu is “a free and open source community archive platform that provides international standards-based content management tools adaptable to the local cultural protocols and intellectual property systems of Indigenous communities, libraries, archives, and museums” (Mukurtu 2016). In other words, Mukurtu aims to address the concerns surrounding access to digital information belonging to indigenous groups.

A Note on Indigeneity Indigenous self-identification and legal recognition differ between Asia and North America. In North America, it has a legal connotation as well, carrying with



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it assumptions of rights, responsibilities, and land entitlements. In Asia, indigenous identity is not as sharply defined. As the resource book, The Concept of Indigenous Peoples in Asia notes, the concept is still highly debated, despite most Asian governments having signed in favour of the United Nations Declaration on the Right of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) by the General Assembly of the United Nations in September 2007 (Erni 2008). The concept of indigenous identity in Asia is further complicated when trying to examine oral-history projects about indigenous cultures in places such as China, with its complex politics regarding history and ethnic memory. Oral-history projects such as the ones conducted by Evergreen Education Foundation and Chaochangdi Workstation, therefore, have an important place in the indigenous oral history movement as a whole (Yu Zhang, pers. comm. 14 December 2014). It is still important to recognize indigenous identity in Asia. As the book The Concept of Indigenous Peoples in Asia points out, indigenous peoples such as the Ainu from Japan, the Mindanao people in the Philippines, and the West Papuans, who are currently occupied by Indonesia, are indigenous groups that are still facing repression from their own governments, and the denial of their existence puts them in greater danger of oppression (Erni 2008). Indeed, as this chapter has outlined, oral history projects such as the one conducted by EngageMedia, try to highlight the struggle of indigenous peoples in Asia. Other projects, such as those at the Vanuatu Cultural Centre, are framed as national projects but could be understood to be the expression of the indigenous population of the country. The fact remains that there is a sharp contrast between indigenous oral history projects in North America and the ones conducted in Asia. For one thing, many of the North American oral history projects highlighted in this chapter are conducted by the indigenous peoples themselves, whereas many of the Asian oral history projects are carried out by outside institutions, often from a foreign country. This difference can perhaps be attributed in part to the recognition of indigenous titles and rights in North America and the lack of this type of legal recognition in most places in Asia. Another complicating aspect is that countries such as the United States and Canada developed as European settler states whereas most Asian countries existed as subjugated nations with comparatively little European immigration. This results in a greater demarcation between “indigenous” and “non-indigenous” in North America as compared to Asia. As well, given the different legal framework in the United States and Canada, with legal recognition comes responsibility on the part of the government for the rights of indigenous peoples. It is important for governments, academics, and communities to value and recognize the indigenous identities in Asia.

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Conclusion This chapter provided a general overview of digital oral history projects involving indigenous groups in North America and Asia. Out of the wide range of types of oral history projects, it highlighted six different types of digital oral history: digitized oral-history collections, film-making and born-digital oral-history interviews, digital storytelling, language-preservation digital oral history projects, community and cultural mapping, and digital libraries of traditional medicine and plants. There are currently many possibilities for oral history projects in digital forms that were not previously possible. For instance, digitized oral history is instantaneously accessible to people from all over the world. Yet the idea of restricting access to sacred songs and stories while still providing access to the oral history is also a new possibility in digital format. Digital technologies have also made language revitalization and preservation more dynamic and interactive for language learners – evident in the many language-related mobile apps that tribes and nations, such as the Cherokee Nation, have developed. Treuer (2001, 156) quoted an Ojibwe Elder in his book, Living our Language:Ojibwe Tales and Oral Histories, who said: “we are not losing our language, the language is losing us.” The Elder’s statement implies that language also needs to “move” with the changing times, to follow where the speakers are heading in order for it to survive. In this sense, mobile apps are adapting the language to the changing needs of its speakers. Different types of digital oral history projects come with different ethical dilemmas and considerations. For instance, when digitizing oral history collections, researchers must consider consent of the subjects of the interviews, and sometimes this process leads to a review of how the collection will affect interview subjects before digitization is even a possibility. Indigenous oral history projects must also centre the factor of access. The ability to both have access to the information and be able to control who gets to see certain information is important for many of the indigenous digital oral history projects. The ability to control their own information is essential to indigenous people who have experienced so much loss and theft of their knowledge. An example of a digital oral history project that comes out of the need for control of information is the Digital Library of Traditional Medicine developed by the Indian government. They developed this library after a long history of inappropriate patenting by pharmaceutical companies. Indigenous identities may differ between North America and Asia. In North America, indigenous identity has legal meanings whereas the concept is still highly contested in many parts of Asia. This fact is reflected in the types of



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oral-history projects being done in North America versus the ones under way in Asia. Nevertheless, indigenous identities need to be recognized both in North America and in Asia in order for the preservation of indigenous knowledge to have value in both parts of the world.

References Ainu Museum. 2014. “Ainu Language Archive.” [In Japanese.] http://www.ainu-museum.or.jp/ takar/index.html. Accessed on 12 June 2015. Baker, Bill John. 2014. “Looking Back and Looking Forward.” http://grandlakenews.com/ cherokee_nation/article_e7ef0581-48dc-5340-a74b-271b9fc7cd4d.html. Accessed on 31 December 2014. Bird, Louis and Jennifer S. H. Brown. Telling Our Stories: Omushkego Legends and Histories from Hudson Bay. Peterborough, Ontario: Broadview Press, 2005. Cahalane, Marie. 2012. “The Folk Memory Project.” The World of Chinese 17 August. http:// www.theworldofchinese.com/2012/08/the-folk-memory-project/. Accessed 10 February 2016. Daes, Erica-Irene A. 1997. Protection of the Heritage of Indigenous People. Vol. 10. Paris: United Nations. Di Gessa, Stefano, Peter Poole and Timothy Bending. 2008. Participatory Mapping as a Tool for Empowerment: Experiences and Lessons Learned from the ILC Network. Rome: International Land Coalition. Digital Intangible Heritage in Asia. 2010. “AILCA – The Archive of Indigenous languages and cultures of Asia.” http://www3.ntu.edu.sg/home/cfcavallaro/DIHA/project2.html. Accessed on 10 February 2016. Digital Storytelling Toronto. 2010a. “Rigolettimiugvunga.” http://storycentre.wordpress. com/2010/02/25/rigolettimiugvunga/. Accessed on 16 June 2015. Digital Storytelling Toronto. 2010b. “Six Nations ECHOES,” http://storycentre.wordpress. com/2010/03/18/six-nations-echoes/. Accessed on 12 June 2015. EngageMedia. 2011. “Papuan Voices.” http://www.engagemedia.org/Projects/papuanvoices. Accessed on 30 May 2015. Erni, Christian. 2008. The Concept of Indigenous Peoples in Asia: A Resource Book. Amphur San Sa: Asia Indigenous Peoples Pact Foundation. Evergreen Education Foundation. 2016. “Bringing Educational Opportunities to Rural China.” http://www.evergreeneducation.org. Accessed on 10 February 2016. Gupta, V. K. 2011. “Protecting India’s Traditional Knowledge.” WIPO Magazine 3. http://www. wipo.int/wipo_magazine/en/2011/03/article_0002.html. Accessed on 31 May 2015. Hunter, Justine, 2014. “Oral History Goes Digital as Google Helps Map Ancestral Lands.” The Globe and Mail 11 July. http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/british-columbia/ oral-history-goes-digital-as-google-helps-map-ancestral-lands/article19566302/. Accessed on 5 June 2015. Institute of Museum and Library Services (IMLS). 2015. “Oral History in the Digital Age.” http:// ohda.matrix.msu.edu. Accessed on 20 May 2015.

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Iseke, Judy, 2011. “Indigenous Digital Storytelling in Video: Witnessing with Alma Desjarlais.” Equity & Excellence in Education 44(3): 311–329. doi:10.1080/10665684.2011.591685. Accessed on 15 May 2015. Iseke, Judy. 2016. “Voices in the Wind Productions”. http://www.ourelderstories.com/. Accessed on 12 February 2016. Larson, Mary. 2013. “Steering Clear of the Rocks: A Look at the Current State of Oral History Ethics in the Digital Age”. Oral History Review 40(1): 36–49. doi: 10.1093/ohr/oht028. Accessed on 20 May 2015. Levin, Howard. 2011. “Authentic Doing: Student-Produced Web-Based Digital Video Oral Histories.” Oral History Review 38(11): 6–33. doi:10.1093/ohr/ohr046. Accessed on 20 May 2015. Merson, John. 2000. “Bio-Prospecting or Bio-Piracy: Intellectual Property Rights and Biodiversity in a Colonial and Postcolonial Context.” Osiris 2(15): 282–296. Mesa Historical Museum. 2016. “Oral History.” http://www.valleyhistoryinc.com/ oral-histories/. Accessed on 10 February 2016. Mukurtu. 2016. http:// mukurtu.org/. Accessed on 25 January 2016 National Archives of Singapore. 2015. “Oral History Interviews.” http://www.nas.gov.sg/ archivesonline/oral_history_interviews/. Accessed on 10 January 2015. National Library of Australia. 2016. “Collections.” http://www.nla.gov.au/digicoll/. Accessed on 10 February 2016. OurVoices.ca. 2015. “Omushkego Oral History Project.” http://www.ourvoices.ca/. Accessed on 10 January 2015. Potter, Claire Bond and Renee Christine Romano, eds. 2012. On Privacy, Copyright, Video Games, Institutional Review Boards, Activist Scholarship, and History that Talks Back. Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press. Ritchie, Donald. A. 2003. Doing Oral History: A Practical Guide. New York: Oxford University Press. Tian, Maolin and XinJian Xu. 2014. “The Preservation of Traditional Value System of Sichuan Migrant Tibetan.” In Poder y democracia = Power and Democracy: XIII Congreso Internacional de Historia Oral, Barcelona, 9-12/7/2014: Las múltiples voces de la historia oral = The Many Voices of Oral History, 1009–1024. [Barcelona: Generalitat de Catalunya.] Treuer, Anton. 2001. Living Our Language: Ojibwe Tales & Oral Histories. St.Paul: Minnesota Historical Society Press. Trimble, Charles, Barbara W. Sommer and Mary Kay Quinlan. 2008. American Indian Oral History Manual: Making Many Voices Heard. Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press. Turin, Mark, Claire Wheeler and Eleanor Wilkinson. 2013. Oral History in the Digital Age: Archiving Orality and Connecting With Communities. Cambridge: Open Book Publishers. University of Alaska Fairbanks. 2009. “Tanana Tribal Council Project Jukebox.” http://jukebox. uaf.edu/TananaJBX/HTML/Index.htm. Accessed on 15 May 2015. University of Hawaiʻi . 2016. “Center for Oral History.” http://www.oralhistory.hawaii.edu/. Accessed on 10 February 2016. Urban, Elizabeth C. 2010. “The Evolution of Revolution: The Dilemma of Censorship and Fifth Generation Filmmakers.” Honors College Theses 88. http://digitalcommons.pace.edu/ honorscollege_theses/88. Accessed on 10 February 2016. Urban School of San Francisco. 2016. “Telling their Stories: Oral History Archives Project.” http://www.tellingstories.org/. Accessed on 12 February 2016.



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Vanuatu Cultural Centre. 2015. Last modified January 25, 2015. http://vanuatuculturalcentre. vu/. Virtual Museum of Canada. 2007. “Dane Wajich. Dane-Zaa Stories and Songs: Dreamers and the Land.” http://www.virtualmuseum.ca/sgc-cms/expositions-exhibitions/danewajich/ english/index.html. Accessed on 10 February 2016. Willox, Ashlee Cunsolo, Sherilee L. Harper and Victoria L. Edge. 2012. “Storytelling in a Digital Age: Digital Storytelling as an Emerging Narrative Method for Preserving and Promoting Indigenous Oral Wisdom.” Qualitative Research. doi: 10.1177/1468794112446105. Accessed on 10 February 2016. Zaman, Tariq, and Alvin Yeo. 2012. “Tools and Strategies for Managing Penans’ Indigenous Botanical Knowledge.” Paper presented at the Borneo Research Council Conference 2012: Identities, Cultures and Environments. http://www.researchgate.net/ publication/246545634_Tools_and_Strategies_for_managing_Penans_Indigenous_ Botanical_Knowledge. Accessed on 15 May 2015.

Hartwell Francis, Tanya E. Clement, Gena Peone, Brian Carpenter and Kristen Suagee-Beauduy

Hartwell Francis et al.

22 A  ccessing Sound at Libraries, Archives, and Museums We discuss the tools at the interface of learner and collection. As more and more libraries, archives, and museums digitize their collections, students of history, culture, and language will use new tools to access and interpret the collections. Library, museum, and archive information is not and has never been free; the notion of free information comes from those who have the inclination and technical skills to collect information. As such, we develop the idea of the learner as a participant in the interpretation and use of the collections of libraries, archives, and museums, and we discuss the ethical implications of working with digitized material in community/collection partnerships. Further, we consider how the use of digital processing tools allows learners to access, interpret, and re-distribute heritage information. Our primary focus is on sound collections and we discuss the tools for accessing and processing digitized audio since many of these issues, which are not necessarily particular to sound collections, are made readily apparent through the work of making sound collections accessible. Throughout, we keep in mind that information dissipates if not collected, that information accretes through re-interpretation, and that users wield information in socio-cultural contexts for many different purposes.

Introduction We first came together in a series of meetings connected with the High Performance Sound Technologies for Access and Scholarship (HiPSTAS)1 project. Originally funded by a National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH) Institutes for Advanced Topics in the Digital Humanities grant, HiPSTAS is a collaborative project out of the School of Information (iSchool) at the University of Texas at Austin (UT-Austin) and the Illinois Informatics Institute (I3) at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign (UIUC). The goal of the HiPSTAS project is to determine how developing advanced computational software for accessing and analysing audio collections can meet the needs of humanists including archivists, librarians, scholars, and community members. We were a contingent present at 1 https://blogs.ischool.utexas.edu/hipstas. Accessed on 29 January 2015.



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these meetings that was primarily interested in providing access to sound recordings of significance to indigenous communities. Now, as we consider what it means to provide access to the sounds and the voices of people who are no longer among us, we recognize these voices and the knowledge that they have passed on to us. We recognize the support of our families, our friends, our colleagues, and our institutions. We recognize the cultural blender in which we all find ourselves. We recognize our students as we seek to reknow and remember ourselves, a process Emmerson (2014, 60) urges of Diné peoples: “Knowledge of deconstruction and reconstruction, learning and unlearning, restoring, reclaiming, regenerating, creating, reframing, gendering, democratizing, connecting, and storying creates a legitimate place to reknow and remember ourselves as Diné peoples.” We present our work on sound archives in libraries, archives, and museums with the hope it will inspire new kinds of indigenous engagement with the exponentially expanding collection of digitized recorded sounds and voices. At the HiPSTAS meetings, as we shared beautiful audio files and cautionary tales of cultural heritage management with each other, we began to understand the extent of the rich sound heritage shelved in libraries, archives, and museums and the extent of the complexities associated with the impending unprecedented levels of work needed to access digitized sound. We began to understand the paucity of library scholarship, linguistic and cultural scholarship, and, especially, source-community scholarship on audio archives. We began to see that scholars and communities are not acquainted with audio material in archives, in part because recorded sound and access to recorded sound are relatively new developments. We understood that scholars and communities are not familiar with available and potential audio processing tools. Consequently, we open our discussion of some of the problems associated with managing audio archives along with our work on developing techniques and tools for reknowing and renewing audio archives. We present our discussion following Werito’s (2014) framework for understanding in the hope that the process Werito outlines will assist source communities to develop their own audio archives within their communities. Werito outlines a cyclical framework of conceptualization (thinking for one’s self), actualization (realization of one’s self), action (acting on goals set by conceptualization and actualization), and reflection (having hope, faith, respect, and reverence for life). Accordingly, we begin with a conceptualization of the problems: audio archives are currently inaccessible and creating access to culturally sensitive materials is a complex issue. Indigenous ownership of audio archives is predicated on indigenous actualization and this includes understanding and engaging in the processes involved in the work of creating access. While libraries,

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archives, and museums are working with source communities to create dynamic metadata and exhibitions (Karp and Kratz 2015), indigenous communities can also take action in developing access to audio archives. We describe digital audio visualization processes that will be critical for source communities who seek to develop metadata and present sound heritage independently or in collaboration with collecting institutions both before beginning to develop audio resources and after development. However, source communities must also consider issues of audio archive authority and control. We conclude in reflection: source communities and collecting institutions must continually reflect on their interaction in the context of previous interactions before again continuing the process of creating access to audio archives.

Conceptualization: Accessing Audio Archives of Significance to Indigenous Communities We are still only beginning to create access to audio archives. For the last 138 years, since 1877 when Edison played his phonograph in the offices of Scientific American (Steffen 2005), we have had the technology to mechanically record and reproduce the sound waves of speech. Over the years, sound recordings in various formats have accumulated in libraries, archives, and museums, but audio collections in archival repositories are often underused due to problems posed by a host of obsolete, deteriorating physical formats and the high cost of digitization and other forms of reproduction. At this point, the reel-to-reel tapes may be on the shelf, but the reel-to-reel player may have broken down and been discarded thirty or more years ago. Even if the player has been maintained, there may be no feasible way of using it in the research setting. Limited staff expertise in the handling and conservation of audio materials can make the use of even moderately outof-date formats difficult. At the repositories, the archivists tasked with processing audio collections and producing descriptive reference material for them have faced this problem regularly over the last several decades as cylinders, discs, wires, reels, and other formats have continuously found their way into archival collections. As a result, important cultural heritage is physically inaccessible to source communities, researchers, and the archivists themselves. Further, cataloguing sound collections can be an extremely time-consuming affair. Sound collections, for example, cannot be surveyed as quickly as manuscript or other physically visible collections. As a result, these collections are frequently under-processed. Further, sound-archive cataloguing is still rarely based on learned listening to the recordings to any substantial degree. Instead,



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cataloguing information or metadata about the collections is often based solely on very general and sometimes inconsistent or entirely absent documentation written on the media themselves. An under-described collection can become an invisible one, since inadequate metadata means key features of the contents of audio collections remain unknown to potentially interested source communities and researchers. Even when archivists have the time and resources to catalogue indigenous audio materials to a deeper level of detail, it is not possible for them to have the knowledge necessary to include the details and categories salient to the source communities according to which community members might want to be able to locate content. To overcome problems of audio archive access, collecting institutions and source communities have to work together. At the same time, these kinds of collaborations are not simple. Many of the source communities are in a period of recovery from trauma and disconnect from their historic values as a result of centuries of mainstreaming. The educational and governing systems enacted for indigenous people targeted assimilation rather than self-determination. As indigenous governments were formed in the likeness of non-indigenous governments, the traditional systems of authority were often replaced by structures that did not necessarily incorporate cultural values. Helfer and Austin (2011, 446) observe that individual ownership, for example, may be an imposed value: Just as indigenous human rights claims unsettle the individual-state dichotomy in human rights law, they also challenge the individualist focus on intellectual property law. Indigenous claims often focus on the role of the group in creative processes that may develop through the accretion of innumerable individual contributions occurring over many generations.

Indigenous governance structures have been ignored and replaced. Authority and control over heritage language has shifted. Many traditional indigenous language speakers have indicated that language is much more than a means to communicate. Language is one of the principal heritages that contribute to indigenous identity that communities work to safeguard. Indigenous language connects tribal people to their ancestors, telling of origin, of land and resources, of lifeways, of historical events, and of tribal and family lineage. As language heritage, audio collections in libraries, archives, and museums are precious treasures. Because of the nature of the information that can be conveyed through language, it is important for those working with language material to understand that improper use can distort the history and contemporary identity of the language community. In the digital world, audio and video archives are different in kind from other heritage materials archives. With the advent of “born digital”, for audio, visual,

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and audio-visual materials that are created by digital means, the copy can be almost indistinguishable from the original. This raises fundamental issues of stewardship for collecting institutions that are used to working with written texts and physical objects, including photographs and negatives. Source communities and collecting institutions are justifiably concerned that physical objects and written texts may be mishandled and, in part, this concern promotes image digitization. But the source community or the collecting institution still holds the tangibly distinct original material with its correspondingly more complete information. In contrast, the digital sound copy is practically a complete copy of all the information of the original audio recording.

Actualization: Collecting Institutions and Communities Metadata and Archive Development The American Philosophical Society,2 hereafter APS, faces the processing and cataloguing problems mentioned above with regard to its audio collections. The APS, the oldest learned society in the United States, has been collecting books, manuscripts, and audio-visual materials on the indigenous languages and cultures of North America since the late eighteenth century, when it was led in that direction by its early president, Thomas Jefferson. Today, the APS Library houses over 1,500 linear feet of unique manuscript, photograph, and audio collections documenting over 250 indigenous cultures of the Americas. An ideal opportunity to begin to address access issues arose out of a six-year project (2008–2014), funded by the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, to digitize the entirety of the APS Library’s audio recordings related to indigenous languages and cultures. The audio collection of the APS totals some 3,200 hours altogether and contains material from 162 native languages, with the earliest recording from 1928 (APS 2013b) The first part of this six-year project provided the chance to catalogue all of the APS indigenous languages and cultures audio to the item level. As a result, there are individual catalogue records for every song, story, interview, or other discrete programme, each including all known information on each item’s participating speakers, language(s), location, date, subjects, and references to any related manuscript documentation. In addition to making a more granular level of information available, the process of cataloguing the recordings to this level of detail also revealed, in the majority of these collections, the existence of content previously unknown to the APS itself. 2 http://www.amphilsoc.org. Accessed on 31 December 2014.



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This influx of information on the contents of the collections led to a quick increase in the visibility of the collections. The second Mellon-funded grant (2011–2014) focused on continuing the ongoing digitization of the collections and actively using the opportunity to restore copies of the now more accurately described recordings to the communities from which they came. The APS considered this return not as a one-time effort, but as the beginning of potential ongoing collaborations with native communities to actively and continuously seek out each community’s guidance on the accurate representation of its materials (audio or otherwise) in the APS collections. This demonstrated respect for their sovereign right to regulate the reproduction and publication of culturally sensitive knowledge. This partnership model, dubbed Digital Knowledge Sharing, was initiated in this second grant with four native groups: the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians (EBCI), Tuscarora Nation, Penobscot Nation, and multiple Anishinaabe nations in the United States and Canada. To reach these objectives, the project included funding for digitization of materials requested by the partnering tribes and for Native American fellowships that allowed each tribe to send representatives of its choosing annually over three years to Philadelphia to do research at the APS Library itself. In addition, the APS’s Director of Native American Projects, Timothy Powell, travelled to each tribal community annually during the grant period to meet with local educators, knowledge keepers, and tribal officials to receive their guidance on how to best represent the collections and make them available in a productive and respectful manner. Among all of these partnerships, the working relationship between the APS and the EBCI is one of the most fully developed. Working in collaboration with T. J. Holland, Cultural Resources Supervisor for the EBCI, the APS welcomed a group of eight researchers from the EBCI, including six elders fluent in Cherokee, who travelled to the library in October 2013 to examine all of the APS’s manuscript, photograph, and audio collections containing substantial amounts of Cherokee material gathered in the EBCI’s territory. The EBCI researchers worked with APS staff to locate linguistic and historical materials useful for educational initiatives. They also worked to identify materials containing sacred traditional knowledge not appropriate for public dissemination. Because materials in the collection are often written in the Cherokee syllabary or recorded in Cherokee only, identification and metadata development required collaboration with EBCI language experts. This collaboration has a broader historical significance as well. It represents the first time in the APS’s 270-year history that traditional knowledge keepers were recognized as having a standing equal to scholars, with sovereignty over the disposition of their community’s culturally sensitive knowledge. To prevent unauthorized dissemination of sensitive recordings, the APS restricts online access to, and all reproduction of, audio identified as culturally

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sensitive by source communities as it collaborates with them. In cases where the APS has not yet had the opportunity to establish a partnership with a source community, yet believes a given recording has a high likelihood to be potentially culturally sensitive given the nature of its content, the APS will also restrict reproduction and online access to these recordings until the material has been reviewed and designated as sensitive or not by the appropriate persons or entities from the community of origin. As an example, a collection of recordings from North Carolina identified as Cherokee Sacred Formulae was restricted as potentially sensitive at the start of the audio digitization project. When visiting EBCI elders identified this collection, and some other related manuscript materials, as indeed culturally sensitive, the APS accordingly designated them as such in its online catalogue. Some manuscripts previously designated as potentially sensitive were also identified by the elders as non-sensitive. Accordingly, the APS lifted the reproduction restriction for these items. The process followed in this collaboration reflects procedures cultivated in conjunction with the APS’s development of its own Protocols for the Treatment of Indigenous Materials (APS 2014). These internally-directed guidelines were written and approved by the Native American Advisory Board of the APS and adopted as official library policy in September 2014. Collecting institution and source community collaboration can develop as a mutually beneficial cyclical process as institutions and communities build awareness and trust. For instance, Powell and APS archivist Brian Carpenter visited Cherokee, North Carolina in December 2013 to formally present digital copies of all requested audio and manuscript materials at the Atse Kituwah Academy, an independent EBCI-run elementary school Cherokee language immersion programme. EBCI elders also graciously gave permission to have interviews and conversations among themselves recorded discussing (predominantly in Cherokee) the digital materials brought to the school. These new audio materials will, in turn, become sources of new instructional materials for students at the Academy and also become part of the APS’s permanent audio collection. With completion of the APS’s audio digitization in April of 2014, its recordings are now available online in its Digital Library (APS 2013) via password-protected access that allows researchers unable to visit the library to easily utilize the materials and also provides a means for restricting reproduction of culturally sensitive recordings. The pivotal role of audio collections in making the Digital Knowledge Sharing model a success has made possible the formation of the Center for Native American and Indigenous Research at the APS, a subdivision of the Library devoted to the further development of respectful, ongoing partnerships with indigenous communities represented throughout the collections.



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Such research is exemplified by The Drum Speaks, a documentary in which Powell (2011a), through his work at APS and his work with Digital Partnerships with Indian Communities of the University of Pennsylvania, works with Larry Aitken to develop understanding of the context of a drum housed at the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. In the longer video cited on the website, Aitken critiques the metadata, “drum for 4th of July celebration”, that is physically tagged to the drum. In Cherokee Stickball, Powell (2011b) presents an audiovisual assessment of the Cherokee game based on photographs from the archives and source community interpretation. Changes in protocols and methodologies for intercultural scholarship lead to increased collaboration between collecting institutions and source communities, to the benefit of both (Karp and Kratz 2015). Hunter Library at Western Carolina University (WCU) provides another example. WCU (2016a) is currently engaged in expanding its digital collections. Hunter Library houses the digital collection “Cherokee Traditions” in ContentDM, a general data-management system for which Hunter Library has devised a metadata framework that relies on subject headings from the Library of Congress. While this international standard is an excellent paradigm for most users, its Westernized hierarchical architecture is not always relevant or intuitive to Cherokee and other indigenous users. Software designers, including indigenous peoples, open to working with indigenous peoples can design new taxonomies, new methods of furbishing metadata, and methods of hyperlinking based on tribally distinct worldviews. (Christen 2011). Fariello (2014) led a WCU Hunter Library and Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians research collaboration that produced a set of portable history and culture panels titled “Cherokee Traditions”. Audio files associated with the research are now part of Cherokee Traditions. We can critique the metadata, including the title, of an audio file of a Cherokee speaker describing a picture of a stone pipe that entered the collection through archeological research. The picture had been catalogued by the title “Calumet”. The sound in the collection has lost its association with the picture and it is titled “Pipe for Smoke” (WCU 2016b) to reflect the core of the narrative. The narrative in Cherokee translates in part to “importance was in the pipe, making the pipe and combining the smoke with breath and breathing it out”. The decision to present the sound file in this way privileged the content of the Cherokee language file over a Western anthropological norm. Despite sensitivity in describing the “pipe for smoke” object, however, the decision to present cultural practice information in a publicly accessible format could be viewed as irresponsible. The approach is still unlike one that a Cherokee person might follow; such a approach would reflect Cherokee cultural views. For example, tribal protocol asks that when spiritual information is received,

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one must know the decorum involved in receiving and using that knowledge to prevent harm to the individual, community, and universe. Piecemeal presentation of cultural tradition cannot satisfy holistic learning styles. The title may need to be reconsidered in collaboration with the source community. “Calumet” unnecessarily restricts access to those with the technical vocabulary to search for the information. “Pipe for smoke” unnecessarily publicly emphasises the spiritual functional role of smoke. We see a real need to expand metadata for sound files in collections and we can allow metadata development by multiple agents with current technologies. An iteration of the file could be geared toward Cherokee language learning wherein the title of the file could be cross-referenced at three levels: the original Cherokee language term written in the syllabary, the Cherokee transliteration, and the English translation. But affordable content management systems, like ContentDM, cannot incorporate the syllabic characters as a font with searchable terms. Sound archives offer the potential to develop new research grounded in source community language heuristics. A Cherokee-centred infrastructure may validate a worldview where community and relationships are more important than solitary individuals. This and future generations have the potential to take collaborative projects into new territory where the professionals are again Cherokee people working in collaboration with professionals from other institutions and indigenous communities. We envision these collaborations exercising the agency and self-determination needed to shift language status from endangered to stabilized to thriving. On reflecting on our limited experience, we imagine communities and collecting and research institutions working together to produce digital sound heritage. Established institutions involved in cultural maintenance, language revival, and education are a critical part of planning and implementation. Directed by indigenous priorities and indigenous cultural Institutional Review Boards (IRBs), these kinds of collaborations can at least include digital ethnographies revealing how indigenous communities communicate internally and to the public, indigenous social construction of technology including software engineering that addresses alternate hierarchies, and pedagogical approaches to e-learning, critical language, and second-language learning.



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Action: Automated Extraction of Metadata from Sound Archives Indigenous communities have few opportunities to use and to understand how to use advanced technologies for analysing sound. If the interests of the community are to be reflected in the tools that are used to access a community’s sonic cultural records, the community must not only have training opportunities, but must also position themselves as collaborators in developing the tools. Our sound heritage continues to deteriorate on legacy formats, making digitization of the utmost importance. But preservation and access cannot be solved through digitization alone. The HiPSTAS Institute (2013–2014) included twenty humanists (nine librarians and archivists, eight humanities scholars, and three advanced graduate students in humanities and information science) who participated in a yearlong, virtual training programme with two face-to-face meetings. For the most part, participants were able to access collections with which they were already familiar, and this familiarity with specific content positioned the participants as knowledgeable contributors to the development of ARLO software. Collections of interest to the participants included PennSound; the APS’s Native American Collection; oral histories in the American Folklife Center of the Library of Congress and in StoryCorps; and speeches of such luminaries as Ralph David Abernathy, Jesse Jackson, and Martin Luther King, Jr in the Southern Christian Leadership Conference recordings currently archived at Emory University, among others. We chose ARLO software for this research primarily because it extracts basic prosodic features such as pitch, rhythm, and timbre that scholars have identified as significant to humanists performing analysis with sound collections (Bernstein 1998; Sherwood 2006; Tsur 1992). Originally called NESTER, ARLO was developed with UIUC seed funding for avian ecologist David Enstrom (1993) to begin exploring the use of machine learning for data analysis in the fields of animal behaviour and ecology. Specifically, by extracting basic acoustic features for classification, clustering, and visualizations, Enstrom used ARLO to identify and catalogue all syllables (phonemes) produced by a species of songbird, the Northern Cardinal (Enstrom 1993). With over 2,400 hours of recordings, Enstrom labelled examples and then used the pattern recognition and machine-learning functions of ARLO to automatically produce bird vocalization transcripts and analyse vocal patterns in the audio data streams. ARLO allowed Enstrom to process these streams and test hypotheses regarding bird-song production and culture that had previously seemed intractable.

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A first step in machine learning requires that researchers classify examples for the machine to learn and find. In ARLO, examples are audio events defined by a start and end time such as a two-second clip. ARLO analyses audio by extracting features based on time and frequency information in the form of a spectrogram. ARLO presents this audio segment synchronized with these high-resolution spectrograms of the sound for classification by the community. In the case of a scholar working with historical recordings, this could mean marking up snippets of an interview with an Ojibwe tribal elder with “English”, “Ojibwe”, and “Drums” in order to teach the machine to find more of these sonic patterns of interest. The major result of our user requirements gathering is reflected in the extent to which the workshop implementation at the Institute had a direct effect on the kind of feedback we received from users before and after the Institute. The perspectives that applicants had about what kinds of access and analysis “advanced technologies” could facilitate were gathered in three ways: (1) through the applications to the Institute; (2) through pre-Institute interviews conducted by Clement; and (3) through post-Institute reporting. The first sets of responses were gathered before participants were given access to the ARLO application. The last response was given at the end of the final day of labs. Participant responses changed in three significant ways. First, the applications indicated that participants came to the Institute focused on the linguistic elements of the recordings rather than their sonic elements. In contrast, after being introduced to ARLO in a hands-on workshop, participants began to consider how sonic features might play a role in their inquiries. Before the workshop, Nykolaiszyn (2014) was first interested in content analysis; she later queried, “What can visualizations of oral history interviews tell us beyond transcripts?” In general, over the course of the labs and group conversations, participants reformulated their philosophical goals into more concrete technical goals related to the sound features they learned to recognize through ARLO. Francis (2013), specifically interested in the APS Native American collections, wanted to provide systematic technical comparisons of the two extant Cherokee dialects by outlining “the vowel length, pitch accent, h-consonant combinations, lateral fricatives, and alveolar affricates in an attempt to differentiate dialects in the APS Cherokee language recordings”. After the labs, however, when Francis and the other participants in the Native American Sound Archive sub-group became more familiar with the kinds of sounds that are visualized best using ARLO, their collective objectives changed to consider “far more practical outcomes” such as how ARLO could be “used for language preservation / revitalization” and “[b]ecause ARLO works better with smaller bits of information, we hope that it could be used to isolate Cherokee vowel sounds that could be used by language students” (Clement, Auvil and Tcheng 2016), specifically the incorporation of word, phrase,



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and utterance recognition tools. Kramer (2013) began the HiPSTAS Institute wondering, “Can we measure the power of certain performers and performances to retrieve, recover, and think about the full power of intangible cultural heritage and what we might call ‘ephemeral’ history?” After the workshop with ARLO, Kramer asked more concretely, “What are the [sonic] differences and similarities among performers of similar source material?” and then, “How do these performative differences/similarities map or not map onto other factors (race, gender, region, class, age, etc.)?” Having development access to a data and compute-intensive system such as ARLO at the hypothesis generating stage was significant in helping participants untrained in machine learning to better understand the tool and its interfaces as well as to formulate hypotheses that were productive for this resource. This access to sound through ARLO also allowed them the opportunity to consider how sound could strengthen or change perspectives on a cultural event. Specifically interested in the APS Native American collections, for example, another participant wanted to analyse these holdings in order to classify Navajo speakers against a map of origin that would illustrate the location of each speaker. With the ultimate goal of “develop[ing] a cultural map to show spheres of influence of those language-speaking approaches on the stories and motifs across time and in proximity to historical centers of tribal trauma”, this participant wanted to use ARLO to help determine “whether dialectical region or if proximity to historical centers of tribal trauma (e.g., boarding school experiences or Navajo Long Walk) influence that speaker’s ... Beauty Way and Protection Way approaches to speaking the Diné language” (private correspondence, by permission of the writer). In this way, many of the participants’ questions were framed in terms of situated cultural contexts about which sound artifacts can serve as discovery points to nodes of a pattern. Humanists are trained to question how we mediate our cultural artifacts and how they are mediated for us. The participants brought this training to their work with ARLO. For example, even before the introductory lab, Tahmahkera’s (2013) research question was “How, I ask, can we provide access to a taxonomy of the sound files’ performative facets of identity? That is, what might we infer about speakers’ subjectivities ... what can interdisciplinary approaches do to improve access to modes of simultaneously listening to Native speakers, sounds, and identity?” Tahmahkera (2013) considered themes of embodiment and performativity: “How might we thematize and index sounds to address issues of indigenous sonic embodiment in files from which we can hear but not necessarily see the speakers and singers embody their words and songs and be inextricably attached to the sounds in their performances?” Another participant’s research question was framed within larger questions about the objectification of indigenous culture,

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how and what is studied and by whom. This quote is from an application to the HiPSTAS Institute. It is provided here with permission by the participant: Often times, as outsiders looking in, generalities and objectification abounded. Native Americans have struggled to vocalize and record their histories. For Navajo people, books recounting their history reinforce the questioning of the validity of Navajo oral history and ceremonial practice, both of which carry their origin and history ... Not only do we struggle to gain access to information, but also to define what that information is.

Audio collections may have transcripts or existing metadata that help facilitate a participant’s discovery, but the majority of audio collections have limited metadata and no transcripts for text searches. For these undescribed collections, machine learning and visualization with audio hold the promise of a helpful tool that does not rely on expensively produced transcripts. However, beyond simple annotation and visualization tools or expensive proprietary software, open-access software for accessing and analysing audio in the humanities using “science-based approaches” is not widely available for general use. Further, since analysis such as machine learning is based on modelling how humans interact with these collections, humanists who seek to have their perspectives reflected in the tools must have access not only to the collections but to the communities reflected in these collections and to the tools that remediate these reflections. Contemporary indigenous communities can use machine learning and audio visualization software to access and develop existing archives. If speakers are not engaged in rehearsing their language through intimate interactions, they will lose their language. Through a variety of processes, matrix or global cultures are preventing or discouraging indigenous communities from using their languages in intimate interactions. And today, indigenous communities are losing their languages at an unprecedented, astounding rate. We have understood written archives as insurance against language loss. Now, sound archives and sound-archive development appear to hold some promise for slowing and reversing rates of language loss. Because sound archives are only recently salient as cultural heritage, however, many communities will need to work to build capacity for their effective development of sound archives.

Action: Sound File Manipulation Before a learner/researcher can automate analysis tasks with ARLO-type software, she or he must understand how to perform close analysis of audio files. The learner/researcher will have to manipulate the sound in order to make it



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meaningful. The learner/researcher will need to isolate portions of the sound and perhaps change the sound for close hearing. The learner/researcher will need a mechanism for easy review of the sound file. The learner/researcher will need to share the sound language with language and culture experts. Finally, the learner/ researcher will need to prepare the sound for other language learner/researchers. We use sound-processing software, Audacity3 and Praat,4 to narrowly focus on sound files in order to develop metadata about the files, to develop subsidiary files, and, more importantly, to make the sound files a meaningful conversation. Audacity is freeware audio-processing software developed for digital multitrack audio recording and processing. Once the audio is recorded or imported, the user can edit, change tempo, and mix tracks. The user can export the edited, mixed, manipulated audio in a variety of digital formats. For portability, for example, the user can import uncompressed audio files and export compressed audio files. Praat is freeware audio-processing software developed by and for linguists interested in the study of the acoustic phonetic features of speech. The program allows the user to abstract and narrowly focus on segments of the stream of speech. The user can view the digitized sound in a number of different ways: waveform, spectrogram of formants, pitch track, and more. The user can add a fine phonetic transcription synchronized with the audio. With Praat, the user can compare and contrast individual sound segments and develop an understanding of psychologically salient language sound structure. We can comfortably say that there has been a global digital sound revolution and we are currently working through the consequences of this revolution. One consequence is that audio is easily transported and easily controlled. Visualizations, graphic representations of the stream of speech, linked to digital recordings of the stream of speech or sound, free us from the time constraints of the stream of sound. Visualizations of sound allow quick access to the information contained in an audio text. The sound user is no longer constrained to wait as sound flows forth over time and slips away, generally without echo. The sound user can skim a complete graphic representation of an audio text, play, and listen to or visually identify and analyse the most meaningful sections. Figure 22.1 shows, at a glance, three minutes of audio, a culturally significant tale of Bear and Rabbit dining together, from the audio archives of the American Philosophical Society, in the Audacity program. Portability of digital audio allows the learner/researcher to share sound with language and culture experts. Figure 22.2 shows the Audacity screen for a two-track sound recording. The first track at the top is the Cherokee language tale of Bear 3 http://audacity.sourceforge.net/. Accessed on 29 January 2015. 4 http://www.fon.hum.uva.nl/praat/. Accessed on 11 February 2016.

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Figure 22.1: APS three-minute sound file in Audacity.

and Rabbit dining together. The second track at the bottom is the English-language audio translation of the tale. We worked with language and culture expert Thomas Belt to create the new, associated material with Audacity. We played through the audio with Belt in order to familiarize Belt with the speaker, the story, the sound, and the language of the recording. Belt simultaneously translated the Cherokee version to English in a new track.

Figure 22.2: Thomas Belt translates APS three-minute sound file in Audacity.

Sometimes it is difficult to make out a sound, a word, a phrase, a text, or a recording. Some older sound files in archives are filled with extraneous sounds, either from the background environment or from the recording technology. Because we have the recorded texts and the accessible audio processors, we can isolate portions of the sound for close hearing. We can repeat and change the sound in controlled ways until the sound is meaningfully identifiable. Belt, in reviewing



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and translating the Bear and Rabbit text, encountered a difficult linguistic and conceptual passage toward the end of the text. The Bear tells the Rabbit that he is not to cut his “stomach” open, indicating a distinction between cutting the skin and fat near the stomach and cutting the stomach itself. Figure 22.3 shows the isolated passage and a copy that is slowed in tempo by 10 % for closer hearing.

Figure 22.3: Portion of text isolated and slowed 10% for close hearing.

The difference between cutting the stomach and cutting near the stomach was clear to Belt on close hearing. In the Cherokee language, h-onset syllables, shown in Figure 22.4, are frequent. Language users are aware of h-onset syllables and they listen for them because h-onset syllables distinguish meanings of words. Language users don’t necessarily hear h-onset syllables in a way that helps them explain the difference between h-onset syllables and non-h-onset syllables. Language learner/ researchers, especially coming from an English-language background, often do not even hear h-onset syllables even if they have been trained to expect them. The audio-processing tool Praat allows user and learner to isolate h-onset syllables and to focus attention on this important language element. The example of Figure 22.4 comes from an extended recording of Reyburn’s (1952) elicitation of language structures. Reyburn’s field recordings are in the archives of the American Philosophical Society. Both Reyburn’s published descrip-

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Figure 20.4: H-onset syllable hli in Gahliha. “She/He is sleeping.” In Praat.

tions (e.g., Reyburn 1953) and his field recordings are moderately inaccessible to the average language learner. The learner/researcher working with the archived sound files and with audio processing software can repackage critical language structure information so that it is both more accessible and more meaningful to the average language learner. We have found the absence of accessible language learning material for average language learners to be one of the greatest obstacles to young adults involved in heritage language revitalization projects. Audio visualizers like ARLO, Audacity, and Praat allow the learner/researcher to manipulate audio files into more meaningful experiences. Visualizations of the stream of speech help us move between “listening” to language, which involves psychologically imposing fairly rigid categories on fuzzy objects, and “hearing” language, an emotional but linguistically semantically empty experience (Bernstein 1998). When we, as non-speakers, hear a recording of our heritage language without understanding, we are “hearing” in this sense. Language as communication for exchange, record keeping, and other meaningful acts requires “listening”. “Hearing” can be cultivated and we can learn to enjoy the recorded sounds of our heritages. But by “listening”, by understanding the heritage language, we learn from what our elders and ancestors have said. Because of the current climate in which non-global or non-state languages are devalued, potential heritage language speakers often find themselves facing the daunting task of trying to understand a language they can hear, via sound archives, but which they cannot listen to or understand. Through access to sound archives and analysis of sound archives with audio processing tools, indigenous communities and collecting institutions can create culturally meaningful metadata that directs users to key sound files. We can work with language and culture experts to develop, record, and archive associated texts. We can edit archived material and associated audio into new audio packages that facilitate language and culture acquisition while



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supporting and promoting life-long learning. Emerging learner/researchers can use the same tools to continue the cycle of language and culture reinvention.

Reflection: Authority and Control of Indigenous Knowledge With these opportunities for increased participation in indigenous lifeways in mind, we must also problematize how users might interact with heritage language audio files in both private and public contexts. Ideally, indigenous peoples can control contemporary collecting by insisting on community knowledge dissemination protocols. For sound material collected in the past, indigenous peoples can determine which content should be open access and which information should follow restrictions based on traditional knowledge dissemination. Those involved must employ cultural humility in order to understand how the original proprietors want to engage in file-sharing, revision, interpretation, use, and study. Cautionary anecdotes are abundant. In 2012, elder Cherokee knowledge bearers interrupted a video art installation when they were informed that the professional academic artist had produced a recording of a ceremonial song played to an image of a dancing Santa Claus figure. If the artist had approached the designated Cherokee liaisons in the conception process, the artist would have learned that the artwork would be seen as an attack on a culture the artist purportedly valued. Like many others, the artist approached indigenous community source material from an artistic and academic standpoint that valued false perceptions of community, personal artistic creation, and free content over community and open-hearted collaboration. There are many steps we can take to develop protocols for access that are better sensitized. We can establish culturally and ethically sustainable indigenous digital collections with policies and procedures that emphasize collaboration with tribal authorities at every stage of development in order to move beyond the implicit Westernized ethnocentricity and toward protocols that affirm indigenous worldviews. Interdisciplinary collaborations establish best practices that reduce the amount of improper appropriation. Many universities have Institutional Review Boards (IRBs) that ensure humane research. But too many researchers are unaware of tribally specific protocols for approval. In an ideal situation, researchers interested in working with or researching indigenous peoples should approach the appropriate community appointee before approaching their own institutions and funding sources. Being approved for work or research by the indigenous commu-

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nity should be one’s primary concern and should be addressed before the proposed project even begins. In this way, new material enters collections without ambiguity. Authority and control are key concepts for understanding and maintaining relationships between source communities and collections. Indigenous peoples can establish authority and control for their own repositories and for research that involves their heritage in non-tribal collecting institutions. We use many terms and phrases to describe the landscape of indigenous knowledge, including “traditional cultural expression”, “traditional cultural property” and “traditional knowledge”. Regardless of the label, all of these terms are aimed to assert a claim of ownership to the cultural bank of knowledge by those who have created and lived in accordance with the values inherent within these cultural traditions. Indigenous people around the world have been fighting to maintain the sources of their culture and heritage from corruption by the outside world. Exploitation of cultural resources, knowledge, and practices has further detached source communities from their own cultural legacies. Loss of authority and control has been further exacerbated by a legal system that fails to recognize ownership in terms that relate to communally based cultural principles. For the protection of collections and to benefit the indigenous community, instituting general rules and protocols for collections access is imperative. Conventional copyright laws protect ideas generally based on the individual. Indigenous peoples’ cultural assets are not believed to be owned by any one person. Because indigenous institutions are not bound to the same regulations as public institutions that promulgate ideologies of unfettered access to material, we can and should implement indigenous protocols that serve to protect cultural intellectual property from appropriation and misuse (Christen 2011). In general, the issues surrounding copyright and traditional knowledge have not been adequately addressed by the legal systems in the United States and elsewhere. Tapsell (2015), for example, describes the process of developing the Ko Tawa exhibition of Māori taonga ancestral treasures in the Auckland Museum collection. From a Māori cultural perspective, Tapsell and the exhibition team found that the lack of metadata on the manner through which each treasure had entered the Auckland Museum collection was a serious problem. The team set about to code each treasure for one of four trajectories: gift, purchase, loan, or inappropriate acquisition. Tapsell (2015, 265) notes, “as the trajectory of every taonga was identified and registered in the newly established Taonga Database it set in motion one of four distinct procedures of curatorial management”. Contradictory ideas about ownership exist not only at the level of archival and governmental policy but within indigenous communities themselves. In our experience working in cultural heritage preservation, we have witnessed



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several instances where the use of traditional knowledge in non-traditional settings has triggered conflict and brought about challenges of authority. Therefore, it is important to have employees working within indigenous programmes who understand the culture and traditions of the community. These employees, then, may be able to develop policies and procedures that reflect community cultural values. Developing written guidelines and protocols is a crucial tool to guide scholars and learners through difficult situations of access to sensitive material. Today, many individuals and organizations are implementing projects that highlight indigenous collections or themes. Researchers seeking opportunities to publish are attracted to the heritage of peoples with extensive local traditions. Museums are often interested in developing exhibits based on unique cultural expressions. Many such projects have identified language as a way to promote inter-cultural learning experiences but the project managers often do not make the effort to understand the protocols for use of language established within the source community. Nor do these projects attempt to promote intra-cultural learning experiences designed for the source communities. Often, such protocols are not written. They are understood or assumed. So, how can indigenous preservationists utilize their knowledge of cultural protocols in their work with outsiders? Protocols for audio archives, audio collection development, and language heritage largely remain to be developed. The First Archivists Circle (2006) presents protocols for non-tribal collections developed from a Native American perspective. Indigenous communities may want to review protocols and guidelines on a regular basis. New employees of indigenous institutions, council members, or committee members may not be aware of the current status of collections and the guidelines for access and use. There may be a cycle of rebuilding consensus as communities continue to gain experience with outside researchers and as individual participation within communities change. Criteria used to decide which projects are suitable candidates for access to communities’ cultural knowledge is important. Protections that are helpful to have in place include a Memorandum of Agreement with specific details about the project that outline the procedures for use and access to collected information. If it is a one-time use, then that must be stated. Metoyer (2011) presents a useful list of steps for gaining local tribal support for library development for collecting institutions. Metoyer’s steps provide a starting point for implementing collecting institution guidelines and protocols. Metoyer’s (2011, 197) step twelve, for example, is trust: “If your personal view or goals ... are at odds with the community’s priorities, it is best to wait and abide by the community’s decision”. When a request is denied, it is not proper to circumvent those decisions by approaching other departments or representatives. In order to avoid this potential

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problem, consultation and approval from indigenous councils, elders, and other cultural representatives is needed when developing the guidelines and research scope and parameters. Indigenous communities receive requests for translation assistance and for indigenous language phrases. Tribal language and culture institutions frequently field vague requests from translation companies and language learning companies. They field requests for “t-shirt” language from well meaning but culturally unengaged media artists who are interested in a multi-cultural patina for their explorations of complex social relationships involving intimacy and gender. Other times it is a request for use of a song. The explosion of access has resulted in unreflective posting of spiritually meaningful song heritage and confusing song pseudo-heritage. Tribal language and culture institutions field requests for tribal group performances and even for access to oral history recordings. Collecting institutions, tribal and non-tribal, would do well to have audio file protocols in place to circumvent unnecessary friction. In the United States, publishing language material including creation stories, songs, and oral histories outside of the tribe is not viewed by many as a responsible activity at this time. Once these materials are out there in the public, they are subject to the use and interpretation by whomever decides to use them. The United States Copyright Office (2011) cites law that extends copyright in the United States through the life of the author plus seventy years. This leaves many indigenous transcriptions and recordings exposed to exploitation after an arbitrary time limit. As long as indigenous transcriptions and recordings are in community control they will not enter the public domain without community consent. As long as institutions outside the community host community materials, their status remains subject to laws and protocols established outside of the community. Indigenous communities are seeking ways to preserve cultural assets such as language. Researchers and cultural organizations are forming partnerships to seek funding and gain access to traditional knowledge. One must recognize the authority of each indigenous community and abide by their constitutions and cultural protocols. What works for some communities, does not work for others. Just because a community opted in on a project does not mean that the neighbouring community will or would do so under the same terms. Lack of transparency in project development leaves room for scepticism, error, and eventually collector’s remorse and weak relationships. For example, Francis was recently involved in a collaborative project to develop audiovisual texts about source community objects in Cherokee language (Fariello 2014). The work went on display and the source community participants joined the collecting institution participants at the Cherokee Central Schools



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complex in Cherokee, North Carolina. Some weeks later, the work moved to the Oconaluftee Vistors Center of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. One of the source community participants engaged with the final product to a different degree than earlier, carefully reading the transcript of audio recorded for the project. Implying that the final product was not quite correct, the participant asked, “Who wrote this?” “We wrote this” seemed to be an inadequate response. Both source communities and collecting institutions will require reflection and reappraisal at the conclusion of an audio archival collaboration. In some sense, the collaboration never ends, as shifts in institutions and communities necessitate re-evaluation of collections and responsibilities (Dobrin and Holton 2013). Language documentation and preservation projects are of critical importance given the losses experienced by indigenous groups. Within many indigenous communities there is a decline in traditional language learners. However, through concerted efforts and access to technology, hope is not lost. Communities and collecting institutions can work together to provide cultural experience programmes that fit the needs of both.

Conclusion Improvement in the quality and quantity of metadata for audio collections in archives may be the essential first step that makes it possible for source communities and other researchers to learn of the very existence of these materials. Yet even when access is achieved, the metadata from the archival repository may appear quite limited to outside users generally and, even more so, to the source communities. The often limited documentation accompanying these collections, a lack of subject expertise, and the labour-intensive nature of audio cataloguing stand out as the most common impediments to fuller and more accurate descriptions. Modification and expansion of metadata can occur through the intervention of those with unique cultural expertise in the source community. Other kinds of metadata, unforeseen and unobtainable by other means, can emerge from sound processing. Returning digital audio recordings to the source communities provides the opportunity to begin a conversation that occurs, in part, in the metadata itself but is likely to reach beyond it. A source community’s knowledge of the fuller background and significance of a given audio recording can vastly improve the quality of the metadata for it: source communities can correct metadata and add previously unknown information on speakers and topics. Source community participation and the knowledge source communities contribute are often likely to

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outstrip the capacity of metadata to contain it. At a certain point, improved metadata may stop being metadata entirely and become new content unto itself, a gain for source communities and for collecting institutions. In this collaborative effort between source communities, scholars, archivists, and technicians to improve the extent, accuracy, and appropriateness of information on indigenous audio recordings, the metadata may broaden, narrow, and be revised in other ways as the conversation progresses. The metadata may also need to be quite different depending upon the context in which a given recording resides. For example, when an archive returns a digital recording to the source community, the community’s archive may seek to create new metadata categories derived from the source culture and dispense with Westernized and inappropriate titles and descriptors. Archives can incorporate much or all of the terminology the source communities are willing to share in order to fulfil the need to represent the material accurately and respectfully. Yet collecting institutions will need to retain inaccurate legacy information since that information becomes part of the history of the recording or other item. When the history of the ways in which an object has been misidentified or misunderstood, especially when those inaccuracies originate from the original collector of the material, we learn hard lessons. An audio recording can hold entirely different meanings and require different kinds of metadata depending upon the repository where it is represented. Collecting institutions, more than ever, are able to make audio archives available to source communities and the public. Libraries, archives, and museums face impending accessibility management challenges that cannot be overcome without source community involvement. We hope that our work here helps collecting institutions and source communities conceptualize the extent of audio archives and the extent to which working with audio archives is new. We encourage indigenous users to engage with audio archives in a process of actualization by which indigenous users take a role in critiquing and developing audio archive access. Both collecting institutions and source communities will benefit by taking action and collaborating to develop intra- and inter-cultural audio archive presentations. New culturally significant audio objects will inevitably result from these collaborations. On reflection, we believe that if all the parties involved understand their responsibilities and the limits of their roles, collecting institutions and source communities can help each other reknow source communities in a way that is satisfying.



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References American Philosophical Society. 2013. “APS Digital Library.” https://diglib.amphilsoc.org/ collections/audio. Accessed on 29 January 2014. —. 2014. “Protocols for the Treatment of Indigenous Materials.” http://www.amphilsoc.org/ library/protocols-for-indigenous-materials. Accessed on 24 January 2015. Bernstein, Charles. 1998. Close Listening: Poetry and the Performed Word. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Christen, Kimberly. 2011. “Opening Archives: Respectful Repatriation.” American Archivist 74(1): 185–210. Clement, Tanya E., Loretta Auvil and David Tcheng. 2016. “White Paper: High Performance Sound Technologies for Access and Scholarship.” Working paper, 25 January. https:// repositories.lib.utexas.edu/handle/2152/33295. Accessed on 17 February 2016. Dobrin, Lise M. and Gary Holton. 2013. “The Documentation Lives a Life of Its Own: The Temporal Transformation of Two Endangered Language Archive Projects.” Museum Anthropology Review 7(1/2): 140–154. https://scholarworks.iu.edu/journals/index.php/ mar/article/view/2085/4594. Accessed on 27 January 2015. Emerson, Larry W. 2014. “Diné Culture, Decolonization, and the Politics of Hózhǫ́.” In Diné Perspectives: Revitalizing and Reclaiming Navajo Thought, edited by Lloyd L. Lee, 49–67. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Enstrom, David A. 1993. “Female Choice for Age-specific Plumage in the Orchard Oriole: Implications for Delayed Plumage Maturation.” Animal Behaviour 45(3): 435–442. doi:10.1006/anbe.1993.1055. Accessed on 9 June 2014. Fariello, Anna. 2014. “Understanding Our Past, Shaping Our Future: Touring Exhibition Funded by Institute of Museum and Library Services in partnership with the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians.” Poster presented at the Cherokee Central Schools, Cherokee, NC, April 2014. First Archivists Circle. 2006. “Protocols for Native American Archival Materials.” http://www2. nau.edu/libnap-p/protocols.html. Accessed on 6 March 2015. Francis, Hartwell. 2013. “Hartwell Francis.” HiPSTAS Project Page. http://blogs.ischool.utexas. edu/hipstas/participants/hartwell-francis/. Accessed on 9 January 2015. Helfer, Laurence R. and Graeme W. Austin. 2011. Human Rights and Intellectual Property: Mapping the Global Interface. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press. Karp, Ivan and Corinne A. Kratz. 2015. “The Interrogative Museum.” In Museum as Process: Translating Local and Global Knowledges, edited by Raymond A. Silverman, 279–298. London; New York: Routledge. Kramer, Michael J. 2013. “Notes Toward Project.” https://sites.google.com/site/nehhipstas/ project-pages/michael-j-kramer. Accessed on 29 January 2015. Metoyer, Cheryl A. 2011. “Gaining Local Tribal Support for Library Development: Twenty-One Steps for Success.” In Tribal Libraries, Archives, and Museums: Preserving Our Language, Memory, and Lifeways, edited by Loriene Roy, Anjali Bhasin, and Sarah K. Arriaga, 195–198. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press. Nykolaiszyn, Juliana. 2014. “Dust, Drought, and Dreams Gone Dry: Oklahoma Women and the Dust Bowl.” https://sites.google.com/site/nehhipstas/project-pages/juliana-nykolaiszyn. Accessed on 29 January 2015.

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Powell, Timothy. 2011a. “The Drum Speaks.” http://www.sas.upenn.edu/dpic/Drum/Welcome/ OjibweDrums/Speak. Accessed on 25 January 2015. —. 2011b. “Cherokee Stickball.” http://www.sas.upenn.edu/dpic/cherokeestickball. Accessed on 25 January 2015. Reyburn, William. 1952. “Cherokee materials gathered ... on the Cherokee Reservation at Cherokee, N.C, 1951–1952.” American Philosophical Society. http://www.amphilsoc.org/ collections/view?docId=ead/Mss.Rec.16-ead.xml. Accessed on 24 January 2015. —. 1953. “Cherokee Verb Morphology I.” International Journal of American Linguistics 19(3): 172–180. Sherwood, Kenneth. 2006. “Elaborate Versionings: Characteristics of Emergent Performance in Three Print/Oral/Aural Poets.” Oral Traditions 21(1): 119–147. Steffen, David J. 2005. From Edison to Marconi: The First Thirty Years of Recorded Music. Jefferson, NC: McFarland. Tahmahkera, Dustin. 2013. “Dustin Tahmahkera.” HiPSTAS Project Page. http://blogs.ischool. utexas.edu/hipstas/participants/dustin-tahmahkera. Accessed on 29 January 2015. Tapsell, Paul. 2015. “Ko Tawa: Where are the Class Cabinets?” In Museum as Process: Translating Local and Global Knowledges, edited by Raymond A. Silverman, 262–278. London; New York: Routledge. Tsur, Reuven. 1992. What Makes Sound Patterns Expressive?: The Poetic Mode of Speech Perception. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. United States. Copyright Office. 2011. “Chapter Three: Duration of Copyright.” In Copyright Law of the United States. http://www.copyright.gov/title17/. Accessed on 7 May 2015. Werito, Vincent. 2014. “Understanding Hózhǫ́ to Achieve Critical Consciousness: A Contemporary Diné Interpretation of the Philosophical Principles of Hózhǫ́.” In Diné Perspectives: Revitalizing and Reclaiming Navajo Thought, edited by Lloyd L. Lee, 25–38. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Western Carolina University, Hunter Library. 2016a. “Cherokee Traditions.” http://www.wcu. edu/library/DigitalCollections/CherokeeTraditions. Accessed on 11 February 2016. Western Carolina University, Cherokee Language Program. 2016b. “Pipe for Smoke.” http:// wcudigitalcollection.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/singleitem/collection/p16232coll9/id/0/ rec/5. Accessed on 11 February 2016.

Author Biographies

Author Biographies

Carolina Behe is the Indigenous Knowledge/Science advisor for the Inuit Circumpolar Council-Alaska (ICC-AK). Within this position, her work is focused on advocating for the use and meaningful engagement of indigenous knowledge-holders and their information, communicating science and community-generated scientific questions, resource management, and methods of conducting research and community engagement. Carolina’s current work is focused on the development of an Alaskan Inuit food security assessment tool. She works closely with Alaska Inuit to define Inuit food security, identify drivers of food (in)security, and identify methods of monitoring and measuring found drivers, using both indigenous knowledge and science. With the understanding that decision makers require the best available knowledge to make adaptive decisions, Carolina advocates for the use of participatory approaches to research, within her work in Alaska and at the Arctic Council. ICC is one of six permanent participants at the Arctic Council. Within the Arctic Council, Carolina represents ICC on the board of the Conservation of Arctic Flora and Fauna. Jameson C. Brant is the Coordonnatrice, Programme de formation en pratiques muséales destiné aux Autochtones RBC Musée canadien de l’histoire et Musée canadien de la guerre/ Coordinator, RBC Aboriginal Training Program in Museum Practices Canadian Museum of History and Canadian War Museum in Gatineau, Québec, Canada. Camille Callison is from Tsesk iye (Crow) Clan of the Tahltan Nation and holds a BA (Anthropology) and an MLIS in First Nations Concentration from the University of British Columbia. She is the Indigenous Services Librarian and Liaison Librarian for Anthropology, Native Studies and Social Work at the University of Manitoba where she is also a Member of the inaugural Indigenous Advisory Circle (IAC) on Indigenous Achievement at the University of Manitoba. Camille was a member of the Bid and Implementation Committees responsible for bring the Truth and Reconciliation Archives on Indian Residential Schools to the University of Manitoba to form the National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation. Camille is the Past President of the Manitoba Library Association (MLA); was the founding Moderator for Library and Literacy Services for Indigenous Peoples of Canada for the Canadian Library Association (CLA); Chair of the Diversity and Equity Committee for the Canadian Association of Professional Academic Librarians (CAPAL); a Member of the International Relations Roundtable Pre-conference & Publications Committees for American Library Association (ALA) and is one of three members from the American Indian Library Association (AILA) on the JCLC (Joint Librarians of Color) Conference Committee. She has been published and presented extensively nationally and internationally on indigenous knowledge, libraries, and archives issues, most notably for the IFLA Special Interest Group (SIG) on Indigenous Matters in Lyon, France in 2014 and she is an active volunteer and member of the MLA and CLA Prison Library Committee providing library services to inmates. Camille was the Convenor and Forum Co-Chair for the 9th International Indigenous Librarians’ Forum taking place on 4–7 August 2015 at the University of Manitoba. Brian Carpenter is the Senior Archivist at the Center for Native American and Indigenous Researcher (CNAIR) at the American Philosophical Society. From 2008 and 2014 he digitized and catalogued the entirety of the APS’s more than 3,100 hours of audio recordings relating to indigenous peoples of the Americas, that include audio from over 160 languages. His

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current work at CNAIR centres on reconnecting the APS’s extensive archive of indigenous manuscript, audio, and visual material to the communities from which they came to help strengthen community-based cultural and linguistic initiatives, assisting in the creation of community-based archival repositories, protecting sensitive materials from inappropriate use, and improving the accuracy of archival descriptions to correctly acknowledge indigenous authorship and knowledge systems. Sophy Shu-Jiun Chen is the Assistant Research Fellow at the Institute of History and Philology, Academia Sinica, and also the Executive Secretary of Academia Sinica Digital Center. She received her MA degree in Information Studies from the Department of Information Studies at the University of Sheffield, UK in 1997, and PhD in Library and Information Science at the National Taiwan University in 2012. Dr Chen is also an Adjunct Assistant Professor of the Graduate Institute of Library & Information Studies, National Taiwan Normal University. Her research interests include digital libraries, metadata, knowledge organization, and digital humanities. She initiated the Research Project of Chinese-language AAT (Art & Architecture Thesaurus) with the Getty Research Institute, USA in 2008, and has acted as the External Advisor of Getty Vocabularies as LOD (Linked Open Data) since 2014. Collence Takaingenhamo Chisita is a Principal Lecturer and Researcher based at Harare Polytechnic’s School of Information Sciences. He specializes in lecturing and researching on various subjects ranging from modern technologies for information management, information retrieval, research, knowledge management, indigenous knowledge, and information consultancy. Collence is a holder of a MSIS, Bachelor of English and Communications, Higher Diploma in Information Sciences, Diploma in Public Relations and Communications. Currently, he is completing a doctorate in Information Science with a focus on resource sharing in the digital age, and also analyses the challenges and opportunities of the new trajectory of open-access models. Tanya E. Clement is an Assistant Professor in the School of Information at the University of Texas at Austin. She has a PhD in English Literature and Language and an MFA in Fiction. Her primary area of research is scholarly information infrastructure in the humanities. She has published pieces on digital humanities, digital literacies, and information infrastructure development in several books and on digital scholarly editing, text mining, and sound studies in Information & Culture, The Library Quarterly, Literary and Linguistic Computing, Digital Humanities Quarterly, Texas Studies in Literature and Language, and American Literary History among others. Her current research projects include High Performance Sound Technologies in Access and Scholarship (HiPSTAS). Darren Courchene, an Anishinaabe-Ojibwe from the Sagkeeng First Nation, has worked in the field of oral history documentation for over ten years in two major projects which explored the spirit and intent of the Treaty negotiations between the representatives of the Crown and Anishinaabe peoples – the Treaty One Oral History Project with the Treaty One Protection and Implementation Office, as well as the Manitoba Treaties Oral History Project with the Assembly of Manitoba Chiefs and Treaty Relations Commission of Manitoba. Darren has lectured on Treaty history, interpretation, negotiation, and implementation in national and international settings and is currently completing a PhD in Native Studies at the University of Manitoba with an emphasis in politics and literature. The research he is currently conducting incorporates oral,



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 371

written, and archival sources to examine the traditional and contemporary roles and responsibilities of leadership in Anishinaabe Treaty making. Hartwell Francis, PhD, is the Director of the Western Carolina University Cherokee Language Program. Francis has a BA in Spanish and Latin American Studies from University of New Mexico, an MA in Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages from the Applied Linguistics Department of Portland State University in Oregon, and a PhD in theoretical linguistics from the University of Colorado at Boulder. His work is focused on the syntax-semantics interface in Native American languages and on pedagogical approaches to languages of small speaker populations. He is currently working with archives, libraries, and museums to increase community access in order to develop collections for language education. Jonathan A. Franklin is the Interim Director of the Marian Gould Gallagher Law Library at the University of Washington School of Law. He earned his AB, AM Anthropology and JD degrees from Stanford University, and his MLibr with a Certificate in Law Librarianship from the University of Washington. He was the Library Copyright Alliance representative to the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO)’s Intergovernmental Committee on Intellectual Property and Genetic Resources, Traditional Knowledge and Folklore (IGC). Jonathan has written articles on information licensing and international law issues as well as having taught a course in Preservation of Indigenous Cultural Heritage. Emily Grafton is a PhD candidate in Native Studies, University of Manitoba. Her research focuses on colonialism and Canadian federalism, specifically as it relates to jurisdictional responsibilities in the realm of First Nations’ reserve communities. She has worked as a researcher and consultant for a variety of organizations, including the provincial government, non-governmental agencies, and in several academic capacities. This includes the Assembly of Manitoba Chiefs, Manitoba First Nations Education Resource Centre, Newberry’s Consortium in American Indian Studies (Chicago, Illinois), and the Canadian Museum for Human Rights where she currently works as the Researcher-Curator for Indigenous Content. She is Metis and grew up in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. Jordan Graham is the former Museum and Archival Technician at Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute in Oujé-Bougoumou, Québec, Canada, and is currently employed at the Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford, UK. She has previously worked as the Collections Manager and Archivist at The Battle Harbour National Historic Site in Labrador, as an Archaeological Technician in Cultural Resource Management in Ontario, and as an Archaeologist at sites in Canada, Ireland, and Cyprus. Jordan holds a BA with Honours in Anthropology from McGill University, and a Master of Philosophy in Archaeology at the University of Oxford. Gretchen Alice LeCheminant is a youth services librarian for the Sterling Municipal Library in Baytown, Texas. She received her MSIS from the University of Texas at Austin. Her Bachelor of Science in Psychology was obtained from Brigham Young University–Idaho. She received the Conable Scholarship in 2015 from the Freedom to Read Foundation, celebrating recently graduated librarians’ commitment to intellectual freedom. Gretchen was a Connected Youth Intern for the Austin Public Library and spent a summer as the Social Media Intern for The Thinkery, Austin Children’s Museum. She would like to thank her husband for his constant support and Loriene Roy and Camille Callison for the opportunity to work on this book.

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 Author Biographies

Spencer C. Lilley is a Senior Lecturer in Te Pūtahi a Toi, the School of Māori Art, Knowledge and Education at Massey University in Palmerston North, New Zealand. His Māori tribal affiliations are to Te Atiawa, Muaūpoko and Ngāpuhi. Having published widely, his research interests focus on indigenous information behaviour, Māori information literacy issues, and professional and cultural development issues for Māori library and information management staff. Before assuming his academic position Spencer held leadership positions in the university and special library sectors, specialising in the development and delivery of library and information services to Māori clients. Spencer is an Honorary Life Member of Te Rōpū Whakahau (Māori in libraries and information management) and is a Fellow and former President of the Library and Information Association of New Zealand Aotearoa. Heidi S. McCann is currently an Associate Scientist II at the National Snow and Ice Data Center where she works on the Exchange for Local Observations and Knowledge of the Arctic (ELOKA) project, that collects and stewards Arctic Indigenous LTK data from the Arctic. She is a graduate of the University of Colorado at Boulder Museum and Field Studies Program where she focused her studies on the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) and museum consultation. She is a citizen of the Yavapai-Apache Nation and has assisted her tribe on language preservation efforts. Anahera Morehu is of Māori descent from Ngāphui, Ngāti Whātua, Ngāti Kahu, Te Rarawa iwi (tribes) in the Northern area of Aotearoa, New Zealand, otherwise known as Te Hiku o te Ika (the tail of the fish). She is currently the Kaiwhakahaere Toi Aronui, Māori me Moana-nui-ā-Kiwa / Library Manager Arts, Māori and Pasifika Services at the University of Auckland (UoA) Libraries and Learning Services (LLS). Her role is to advance the development of Māori and Pacific content; integrate academic information literacy into the curriculum; deliver information services; and provides research and learning support to Māori, Pacific and research clients and communities. The team promotes LLS and its services to Māori and Pasifika staff and students. An important part of her role is to advocate for Māori issues and recognition of Te Tiriti o Waitangi within the UoA LLS. She is committed to the responsibilities of LLS through acknowledging tangata whenua (indigenous people of New Zealand) and promoting its importance throughout Aotearoa and education. She provides advice on tikanga (protocols) Māori to the UoA environment, enhancing the understanding and implementation of initiatives under Te Tiriti o Waitangi, its impact and benefits for UoA. Jill M. Norwood (Tolowa/ Karuk/ Yurok) is originally from Smith River, California and is enrolled in the Tolowa Dee-ni’ Nation. She holds a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology from the University of Maryland, College Park and works at the Smithsonian Institution, National Museum of the American Indian. Jill began working at the Smithsonian in 1992 with the Smithsonian Early Enrichment Center developing curriculum for young children based on the Smithsonian’s collections. She joined the National Museum of the American Indian in 2000 in the Community Services department. She coordinates training opportunities in museum practices for indigenous peoples of the Western hemisphere at the NMAI and coordinates the Internship Program. She is a board member of the National Preservation Institute, Co-Chair of the Native American and Museum Collaboration Network Professional Interest Committee, and is a Museum Assessment Program Peer Reviewer for the American Association of Museums.



Author Biographies 

 373

Kauwela Vahelo-Novikoff is the Head Librarian at the Kamehameha High School Kapālama campus on O‘ahu, Hawaiʻi. Prior to this, she served as a Faculty-Librarian at Hawaiʻi nuiākea School of Hawaiian Knowledge at the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa (UHM). She received her BA in Hawaiian Studies in 1981, her PD in Secondary Social Studies Education in 1985, and an MLISc in Library and Information Science in 2003. Kauwela served as a secondary education social studies teacher, librarian, and administrator for the Hawaiʻi Department of Education for 23 years. Concerned about improving the educational system, she pursued legal education, interned with a small law firm, and obtained an AS in Paralegal in 2012. She is interested in digitizing collections, Hawaiian librarianship, information literacy in Hawaiian studies, Hawaiian organization and knowledge systems, and advocating for Hawaiian informational services. She has presented and served at ATALM, NAISA, WIPCE, and HLA conferences of which she has included student participation in her mentoring endeavors. She worked to solidify a dual degree between the Hawaiian Studies-Language and the Library and Information Science Departments. She is currently in the Communication and Information Sciences PhD progamme at UHM. She is Kanaka Maoli and resides in Hāna on the island of Maui, Hawaiʻi . Indri Pasaribu is a records manager assistant living in British Columbia, Canada. She has been involved in indigenous library work for many years, having worked with organizations such as Union of BC Indian Chiefs, and actively involved with International Indigenous Librarians’ Forum. She was a recipient of Circle of Learning scholarship programme through San Jose State University. Gena Peone is a member of the Spokane Tribe with a MLIS from San Jose State University and a BA in Humanities from the University of Washington. ​She enjoys working with tribal communities in preservation of cultural collections in a manner that is honest and respectful in all aspects of development, implementation, and presentation. Gena wishes to thank her tribal elders, who have shared their values to respect and care for what the ancestors saved for us. Julia Peristerakis has been working as a Research Assistant for Indigenous Content with the Canadian Museum for Human Rights since April 2013. While in this position, she has assisted with research and content development for multiple exhibits and has worked with various stakeholder and community groups. She holds a Master’s degree in Sociology from the University of Manitoba and a Bachelor’s degree with honours from the University of Winnipeg. Wendy M.K. Peters, originally from Hawai‘i, is Native Hawaiian and the Executive Director of New Era Transitions and Transformations, Ltd. (thenett.com). She holds a PhD in Psychology from Sofia University (formerly the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology) and specializes in Health and Community Psychology. Wendy has effectively worked to address issues of health, mental health, underrepresented/minority student recruitment and retention, and national policy as they pertain to American Indians and other indigenous populations. Her current writing and scholarly publications are related to American Indian, Alaska Native, and Native Hawaiian concerns, the mentoring of ethnic students, and ethics. Peter L. Pulsifer is a research scientist with the National Snow and Ice Data Center (NSIDC), University of Colorado at Boulder where he leads the Exchange for Local Observations and Knowledge of the Arctic project (ELOKA). Before coming to NSIDC, Peter was a doctoral candidate and postdoctoral fellow working under Professor Fraser Taylor at the Geomatics

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 Author Biographies

and Cartographic Research Centre, Carleton University where he is still a research associate. His research addresses questions related to the use of computer-based forms of geographic information. He focuses on theory, methods and tools that inform and support interoperability. Interoperability refers to the ability to readily share information and/or operations for a particular purpose. As an applied researcher, Peter has focused his activities on the polar regions for more than fifteen years. He has worked extensively with indigenous organizations, Arctic residents, and the science community to facilitate ethical sharing of data including local observations and indigenous knowledge. Tyson S. Rinio is the Off-Campus Services Librarian and an Assistant Professor of Library Science at the University of Alaska Fairbanks. He provides distance library service to university students in all parts of rural Alaska, bridging the gap between library resources and rural communities. His research interests include indigenous information issues and book preservation. Tyson was fortunate enough to be part of the inaugural class of Knowledge River, an opportunity that affects all aspects of his library work to this day. Loriene Roy, Professor in the School of Information at the University of Texas–Austin teaches graduate courses on public librarianship, reference, library instruction, and popular music digital space design. She has given over 600 formal presentations and published widely. Her recognitions include a 2015 Distinguished Service Award (American Indian Library Association); 2014 Sarah Vann Award (University of Hawaiʻi at Manoa); distinguished alumnus awards (University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign and the University of Arizona); 2009 Leadership Award (National Conference Tribal Archives, Libraries, and Museums); 2007 State of Texas, Senate Proclamation No. 127; 2006 Equality Award (American Library Association); 2005 Mover and Shaker (Library Journal); two James W. Vick Texas Excellence Awards for Academic Advisors and two Texas Excellence in Teaching awards. Her advisory board service includes the Library of Congress Literacy Awards; the Freedom to Read Foundation; ABC-CLIO Greenwood Publishing Group’s American Indian Experience; and the Design on Learning: 21st Century Online Learning for Library Workers. She was the 2007–2008 President of the American Library Association and the 1997–1998 President of the American Indian Library Association. She is Anishinabe, enrolled on the White Earth Reservation, a member of the Minnesota Chippewa Tribe. Alexander M. Rusero is a Journalism and Media Studies Lecturer at Zimbabwe’s pioneer journalism training institute of Harare Polytechnic’s School of Journalism and Media Studies. An author of five key texts and several peer-reviewed papers, Alexander is currently a PhD candidate with Rhodes University pursuing Political and International Studies. Alexander has a keen interest in elevating and unpacking the historicity of indigenous people with regards to creating smart and equal societies. Alyce Sadongei (Kiowa/Tohono O’odham) was the first Native American director of the American Indian Museum Studies Program (AIMS) at the Smithsonian Institution where she laid the foundation for the current training opportunities available at the National Museum of the American Indian. After she left the Smithsonian Institution, Alyce worked at the Arizona State Museum (ASM) at the University of Arizona. During her tenure at ASM she was principal investigator on numerous grants, including an eight-year project that focused on tribal libraries, archives and museums in partnership with the Arizona State Library and funded by the Institute of Museum and Library Services. She also co-directed several grants related to



Author Biographies 

 375

repatriation, consultation and research regarding pesticide use on museum objects subject to repatriation. She received the Director’s Chair Award from the Western Museums Association for her contributions to the museum field at a national level. Alyce was the first recipient of a leadership award given by the Association of Tribal Archives, Libraries and Museums for her recognized leadership in assisting tribal communities throughout all discipline areas of archives, museums and libraries. She is currently the Project Coordinator for the American Indian Language Development Institute (AILDI) at the University of Arizona. Munyaradzi Shoko is a Faculty Librarian at the University of Zimbabwe in Harare, Zimbabwe. She holds a MSLIS from the National University of Science and Technology (NUST) in Bulawayo. She has written several articles on librarianship and indigenous knowledge systems and has presented papers at various forums including the IFLA World Library and Information Congress 2015 on “Quality Assurance in LIS Education in Zimbabwe”. She has a deep and wide interest in research, library and information science education, and professional growth. She is interested in collaborations with other scholars from any part of the globe. Kristen Suagee-Beauduy is an enrolled member of the Cherokee Nation in Oklahoma, Kristen has matriculated into the post-baccalaureate Interdisciplinary Certificate in Cherokee Studies at Western Carolina University in Cullowhee, North Carolina where she is also a graduate student in Professional Writing. These academic pursuits allowed her the opportunity to co-teach an undergraduate course in Cherokee Literature with the prolific Cherokee author Robert J. Conley. In 2012, Kristen graduated cum laude from the University of Arizona in Tucson, Arizona with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Creative Writing and a minor in American Indian Studies. This collaboration is Kristen Suagee-Beauduy’s first scholarly authorial credit. Raegan Swanson is the Head Archivist at Aanischaaukamikw Cree Cultural Institute in Oujé-Bougoumou, Québec. She has previously worked at Library and Archives Canada and as an archivist at the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada. Raegan holds an honours History Degree from Collège universitaire de Saint-Boniface and a Masters of Information from the University of Toronto iSchool. Raegan is also chair of the Membership Development Committee of the Association of Canadian Archivists. Ciaran B. Trace trained and worked as an archivist in Ireland before moving to the United States to pursue a doctoral degree in Library and Information Science at the University of California at Los Angeles. Ciaran joined the School of Information at the University of Texas at Austin in 2010 and currently teaches courses on archives and records management. Her research interests cross the areas of archives and material cultural, with a particular focus on the nature, meaning, and function of documents in everyday life. Her work has been published in archival and information science journals such as Archival Science, Archivaria, Archives and Manuscripts, Information and Culture, Journal of the American Society for Information Science and Technology, and the Journal of Documentation. Her work has also appeared in the proceedings of the International Conference on Theory and Practice of Digital Libraries (TPDL), Hawai‘i International Conference on System Sciences (HICSS), International Conference on Asia-Pacific Digital Libraries (ICADL), and the Association for Information Science & Technology (ASIST).

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 Author Biographies

Elias Tzoc, originally from Guatemala, is a 2007 graduate of the School of Information at the University of Texas at Austin. Elias currently works as a digital librarian and web developer for Miami University Libraries, where he assists the head of the Center for Digital Scholarship to provide Miami scholars and students with the facilities, services, and expertise to support the creation and use of digital scholarship projects. He also serves as co-PI for two grant-funded projects: 2015 Institute of Museum and Library Services (IMLS) Sparks and 2014 National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH) Digital Humanities Start-Up. In Guatemala, he developed a computer application, Aprendiendo K’ichee, that was used to teach the Maya K’iche’ language to Spanish speakers, assisted in establishing information centres as mini-libraries in rural Guatemala, and published on library topics and its impact on middle-high school and college students. Brigitte Vézina joined the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) in 2006 and is currently Legal Officer in the Traditional Knowledge Division, where she works on intellectual property issues related to traditional cultural expressions. Past experience includes work in the Cultural Enterprise and Copyright Section at the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) and with the Montreal-based intellectual property law firm Robic. Brigitte holds a Bachelor’s Degree in Law (LLB) from the University of Montreal (2002) and a Master’s in Law (LLM) from Georgetown University (2005, with distinction). She is a member of the Quebec Bar (2003). Cristina B. Villanueva is the head of the University of the Philippine Baguio Library and at the same time supervises the Cordillera/Northern Luzon Historical Archives Section. Cristina holds an MA in Education majoring in Library Science and a BA in Economics from Saint Louis University, Baguio City, Philippines. She has taken courses in Archives Administration from the School of Library and Information Studies of the University of the Philippines Diliman. She placed first in the 1997 Librarian’s Licensure Examinations. Her research interests include archives management, photographs in archives, and public school libraries. Gregory Younging is a Member of Opsakwayak Cree Nation in Northern Manitoba. He has a Masters of Arts Degree from the Institute of Canadian Studies at Carleton University and a Masters of Publishing Degree from the Canadian Centre for Studies in Writing & Publishing at Simon Fraser University, and has a PhD from the Department of Educational Studies at University Of British Columbia. He has worked for the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, Assembly of First Nations, Committee of Inquiry into Indian Education, Native Women’s Association of Canada, and from 1990–2003 was the Managing Editor of Theytus Books. Some of his works have been published in Indigenous Affairs Journal, Copenhagen, 2003, Prairie Fire Literary Journal, Fall 2001, (Ad)Dressing Our Words: Aboriginal Perspectives on Aboriginal Literature and Art, 2001, and the Australian Journal of Canadian Studies, 1996. He is a former Member of the Canada Council Aboriginal Peoples Committee on the Arts (June 1997 – June 2001) and the British Columbia Arts Council (July 1999 – July 2001). He is currently Indigenous Studies Program Coordinator at University of British Columbia Okanagan and former Assistant Director of Research for the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada.