Abstract: Drawing on research undertaken at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights, this article considers the role of memory entrepreneurship in the museum’s historic launch and in a sampling of its content, social media posts, points of sale and marketing campaigns. These examples are read in tension with Roger I. Simon’s conceptualization of ‘the terrible gift’ of what we come to know belatedly about events of mass violence, which calls into question the consolatory promises of learning from ‘those who came before us’ and the ‘lessons of their lives’. The museum’s involvement in the City of Winnipeg’s tourism initiatives and the revitalization of Winnipeg’s downtown are also considered, and we suggest that the museum’s participation in the creative economy might affect its tendency to situate human rights violations primarily in the past. Critiques of the Canadian Museum for Human Rights’ present occupation of Indigenous land and the museum (and City of Winnipeg)’s ongoing reliance on natural resources extracted at the expense of Indigenous communities remain as difficult or inassimilable knowledge. Juxtaposing Indigenous, cultural and economic critiques with the Canadian Museum for Human Rights’ advancement of memory entrepreneurship, our article explores the inter-implication of consumer culture, capitalism, settler colonialism and the museum’s ability to contribute to societal change. We conclude by turning to the activism of members of Shoal Lake 40 First Nation, arguing that their calls for access to safe water and an all-season road in and out of their community pose both an economic and a political challenge to the Canadian Museum for Human Rights and its brand of memory entrepreneurship by insisting that gestures to include and proffer representational forms of recognition to Indigenous peoples must simultaneously attend to sovereigntist calls for redistribution of land and resources in order to meaningfully address the historical and ongoing injustices of settler colonialism.


Abstract: This thesis explores the evolution of Stó:lõ Leadership in the Fraser Valley from the seventies to the nineties, with a focus on Chawathil First Nation (located near Hope, BC). Through a combination of archival and oral history research, I attempt to close the gap in the literature about the post second world war generation of Stó:lõ leaders by analyzing the leadership styles and choices of two leaders from Chawathil First Nation, Patricia and Ron John. While the previous generation of Stó:lõ veterans is well studied, little has been written on Patricia and Ron’s generation, despite their experiencing significant historical events such as the civil rights movements, contemporary assimilation attempts, globalization, the rise of digital technologies, and the Constitution Express. To identify the leadership characteristics of their generation and understand their decision-making process, I analyze Patricia and Ron’s life stories through the lenses of post-colonial theory, ethnohistory, and community-engaged research. The results of this analysis suggest that this generation’s hybridity and continuation of earlier leadership practices, such as the role of task-master of early Stó:lõ leaders (si:yam), enabled them to successfully navigate both the western and the Stó:lõ worlds. From this study a model of Stó:lõ decision-making process emerges in the shape of a Stó:lõ loom, holding key Stó:lõ leadership principles and providing meaning and context to Pat and Ron’s decisions as band manager and Chief of Chawathil First Nation.







“If you eat, you are involved in agriculture” is a popular saying among agrarian and alternative food advocates. It is often attributed to the American poet and farmer Wendell Berry who wanted to draw attention to the way eaters are intimately connected with growers. By thinking of eating as an agricultural act, Berry believes eaters will join with growers to help co-create a more just food system that respects the environment, farm workers, animals and planetary health.

Understanding the connection between eating and growing food is a pressing issue today. But what about the past? Both eaters and growers are often ignorant of the entanglement of agriculture and settler-colonial violence. As Patrick Wolfe observed, agriculture “progressively eats into Indigenous territory” for the reproduction of the settler population, while simultaneously curtailing “the reproduction of Indigenous modes of production” and justifying violent dispossession.

If eating implicates one in agriculture, and agriculture is implicated in colonial violence, then eaters, not just farmers and graziers, are implicated in this history.

“If you eat, you are involved in settler-colonialism”.

How should we respond to this claim? What does food justice look like that recognises past injustices associated with agriculture? How would such food justice be enacted in urban farms and gardens of inner-city Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane or Perth? What would it look like in our kitchens, restaurants and supermarket aisles? Or to borrow a question from Indigenous food sovereignty scholar, Michelle Daigle, “what do everyday practices of responsibility and accountability look like for settler food actors as they live and work on contested and occupied Indigenous lands?”

This forum will explore some of these questions, raised in Christopher Mayes’s new book Unsettling Food Politics: Agriculture, dispossession and sovereignty in Australia, which will be launched at the event.