Excerpt: Settlers routinely imagine empty spaces when they think about what they are doing in the countries they seek to possess. They can only do so by foreclosing Indigenous lifeworlds, and they are typically enthusiastic foreclosers. Liam Midzain-Gobin’s Settler Colonial Sovereignty opens with a reference to Canadian politician Alexander Morris’s 1858–1859 call for a Nova Britannia to be established in British North America (3–5). Morris was an inveterate denier of Indigenous sovereign organisation, and he was certainly not alone.1 While this vision of emptiness has been noted in much of the literature appraising settler aesthetics and perception, until now, it had not yet been analysed for what it says about settler cosmologies. Cosmologies are usually appraised in relation to Indigenous collectives, but Settler Colonial Sovereignty reverses this normalising assumption and queries the stories about the fundamental order of the world the settlers tell themselves and everyone else who will listen. Cosmology now operates in the semantic area ideology once operated in—it is about how we make sense of the world—but these are not times for terminological quarrels, and what matters is that Midzain-Gobin is able to develop a crucial insight: if we take settler cosmologies into consideration, and if we understand the effects of the initial emptiness the settlers uncomprehendingly perceive in the land, then we can perceive a constant discursive refrain, a logic that still informs settler utterances, despite genuine and less genuine contemporary attempts to achieve Indigenous “inclusion.” It is the logic of improvement. The logic of improvement, we learn, is fundamentally based on settler cosmologies and ways of knowing (as explained in chapter 1). Importantly, the knowledge production that emanates from the logic of improvement is seen as “apolitical,” and a form of “common sense” (49). After all, who does not like improvement? As the book progresses, we realise that the logic is relentless: whether the state demands that Indigenous people conform to settler expectations, whether it sets out to delimit First Nations reserves and is unprepared to receive Indigenous sovereign inputs (as explored in chapter 2), whether it develops and reforms land and resource monitoring schemes (as detailed in chapter 3), or whether it collects data regarding Indigenous individuals and groups so that it can craft better and more targeted policy interventions (as charted in chapter 4). The logic of improvement underpins settler knowledge production and settler power, and is therefore the foundation of settler sovereignty: a specific sovereign formation that characterises the settler colonial polity. Midzain-Gobin observes that the logic of improvement “structures the very ways” settlers conceive of “what is possible” (9). It structures their knowledge and the governance systems they are determined to impose. Lands and territories can be the subject of improvement (usually by settlers), and Indigenous individuals and their collective institutions also become the target of improvement policies. This is the stuff of coercive assimilation, and it is deadly. But the settlers’ policies and governance mechanisms are also the subject of constant improvement: the settler state, we realise, is not averse in principle to improving its operations because improvement is still, even in an age of Indigenous inclusion, the very language of its cosmological foundation. The settlers are still heading towards their country: once, they literally moved towards it; now, they move metaphorically. One day, they believe, the settler state will finally be capable of containing and representing the Indigenous collectives it is now containing and repressing. This is the cunning of the logic of improvement: it flexibly applies to the contemporary integrative or reconciliationary settler dispensation and to past coercive attempts at improvement. Improvement is the “ideational core of settler colonial worldmaking,” Midzain-Gobin argues (22). A consideration of the logic of improvement makes the relentless constancy of the settler polity manifest. Midzain-Gobin’s sources and archives deal with Canadian settings, but his method and findings are relevant for the study of all the settler colonial polities. The settlers, after all, share a cosmological orientation—one result of being collectives that are heading towards their countries, unlike all other collectives, which are constituted by peoples who come from their countries. The logic of improvement may therefore accompany Patrick Wolfe’s logic of elimination, a formulation that kickstarted Settler Colonial Studies as an autonomous field of research about two decades ago. Attending to both logics enables an examination of the continuities in settler colonial policies and governance, but the two logics may also be considered in their interaction. Settler Colonial Sovereignty‘s most valuable analytical offering may indeed lie in an appraisal of the two logics’ sequential and concomitant operation: improvement by elimination in a primary or originary “frontier” moment, and elimination by improvement in successive, more settled, and much “improved” eras.





Description: This book investigates the legacies of British slavery beyond Britain, focusing on the colonisation of Australia and New Zealand, and explores why this history has been overlooked. After August 1833, when the British Parliament abolished slavery in the British Caribbean, Mauritius and the Cape, former slave owners were paid compensation for the loss of their ‘property’. New research shows that many beneficiaries had ties to other parts of the British Empire, including the settler colonies of Australia, New Zealand, Canada and South Africa. Through a range of case studies, contributors to this collection trace the movement of people, goods, capital and practices from the Caribbean to the new Australasian settler colonies. Chapters consider a range of places, people and themes to reveal the varied ways that slavery continued to shape imperial relationships, economic networks and racial labour regimes after 1833: from the life stories of those travelling from the Caribbean to the new settler colonies, to the extensive links between Caribbean slavery and the mid-nineteenth-century development of colonial industries such as pastoralism, and Queensland’s sugar industry. For the first time, this collection tracks reinvestment in the new colonies and experiments with ‘free’ labour championed by colonisers with strong financial or personal links to Caribbean slavery. It shows that colonisers’ connections to Caribbean slavery shaped their approach to First Nations peoples in seeking to exploit their land, control their labour and meet anti-colonial resistance with lethal violence.



Excerpt: In a well-known short story by American-born Canadian author Thomas King, the narrator’s mother drives up to the border with her daughter in the car, attempting to cross into Montana. The Canada Border Services Agency officer asks, “Wow, you both Canadians?” “Blackfoot” is her reply. After a discussion about the agent knowing a Blackfoot person, she asks again. “Citizenship?” “Blackfoot” again is the reply. “‘I know,’ said the woman, ‘and I’d be proud of being Blackfoot if I were Blackfoot. But you have to be American or Canadian.” While this is a fictional short story, there are plenty of instances of this situation occurring not just for the Blackfoot/Blackfeet (the designation depending on whether one is referring to the nation in what is now Montana—Blackfeet—or Alberta—Blackfoot), but also the Haudenosaunee in the New York, Ontario, or Quebec region, the Coast Salish of the Pacific Northwest, and others across the continent. What these instances of division, citizenship, and frustration have in common is the international border. From a state-centric position, international borders mark the power of the state to control movement, bestow citizenship, and define those who reside within its territory. In North America, particularly the Canada–United States border, there is little concern about a military threat. However, “risky others” remain a concern for both countries due to the real or perceived threat from potential terrorists, migrants, smugglers, and, because of settler colonialism, Indigenous peoples. These fears have only grown in the past two decades as the state continues to present Indigenous peoples, and others, as a threat to justify and extend its imperialist agenda. Though regularly ignored by settler politicians, Indigenous perspectives continue to challenge this statecentric position.



Abstract: The Indian mission school, with its haunting institutional merge of Christianity and education, marks how carcerality and its categories structure not only the Native boarding school, educational, and child welfare systems that follow in what is now the United States, but the carceral state itself. Indeed, this material and ideological punishment infrastructure is a prerequisite for the politics of genocide, fascism and authoritarianism. These ongoing colonial projects that we live with today make historic sites of settler care, learning, and religious fervor, penal harbingers for the carceral moment we live in. This article examines this settler project through the evangelizing “mission” of Valley Towns Baptist Mission school, the largest and most popular settler mission among the ᏣᎳᎩ/AniKituwah/Cherokee people. As a key point of first contact with forms of settler colonialism and Christian supremacy, the school emerges as a contested site where evangelical practices, logics, and ideologies systematically sought to eradicate Cherokee knowledge, life ways, and spiritual cosmologies. Amid ongoing counter-archival efforts to unravel the fate of family ancestors who attended this school, I draw from official and legal documents, Native elder stories, land walks, and Indigenous scholarship that unveil a field of carceral christianizing cruelty and enduring strands of life flourishing cosmologies. These tensions continue to shape how Cherokee and Indigenous peoples address harm and harm-doing without prisons and jails, laying out some of the world’s most abiding and foundational ways into struggles for communal healing, safety, accountability, and abolitionist plotting for power.





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