I didn’t actually know I was an activist, not until I was told so in a class at Simon Fraser University in my first semester. I’ve come to discover that I’m naturally an activist by the very nature of my interests and direction of my doctoral research. By engaging in my own community, I automatically take on the activist role—and this is not uncommon for indigenous people. As Choctaw historian Devon Mihesuah states: “The lines between being female, Native, and scholar do indeed blur, and most of us are scholar-activists,” (2003, p. 22).
Mihesuah points out the complications of our roles: “Native women academic activist focused on tribal issues? Native woman academic who writes about topics unrelated to tribal reality? Native woman academic who writes about Natives but uses theory and methodologies approved by white scholars? Native woman scholar facing stress and frustration for speaking out and not being accepted by those who subscribe to the status quo?” (2003, p. 22).
I find myself in the category of being a Native woman academic struggling to adapt theory and methodologies from non-Native scholars. While qualitative methods and methodologies have some room for cultural sensitivity, there’s no denying the uniqueness to certain factors of my research. For example, the research is intended primarily for an indigenous audience, not an academic audience. Even further, I know there will be a time when I receive knowledge that cannot and will not be included in my dissertation out of respect for tradition. That’s definitely not easy to explain to a non-Native committee. “Trust me, the data is there, I just can’t share it!”
I feel fortunate that SFU’s Interactive Arts & Technology program is flexible enough to allow me space in regards to how the data is used, since “tribes need us to utilize data we amass in political, economic, social, and educational spheres, but many universities do not support these activist interests,” (Mihesuah, 2003, p. 21).
My research poses “What is the process of indigenous traditional oral storytelling?” in the hopes of coming up with design parameters for creating interactive technology that provides an authentic traditional experience as close to the “real thing” as possible. I’m motivated by preserving and revitalizing our culture, which is something that can hardly be quantified over a few months or years, so the main emphasis remains on what can be interpreted as data to the larger academic system. Even so, this motivation is an important factor in my research, since it provides context for why I’m doing what I’m doing and who agrees to essentially become data.
It’s a strange concept for me–becoming data–and one I’m still not comfortable with. I’m still coming to terms with what it means to be mixed blood engaging in research with (hopefully seen as “with” instead of “of”) other Natives. But whenever I begin to question myself, I have Mihesuah to remember: “Scholar-activists need to write about our concerns, and the most powerful way to express ourselves is through our writings. Writing is a way to empower us, to state that we are not victims and that we are attempting to find answers and to solve problems,” (2003, p. 23).
Mihesuah, D. A. (2003). In the trenches of academia. In Indigenous American Women: Decolonization, empowerment, activism (pp. 21-38). Lincoln, NB: University of Nebraska Press.
