We are lucky enough to live close to where Cree artist Kent Monkman currently has his Four Continents installed at the KWAG, and we went as a family to check them out. Kennedy has long been a fan of his subversive, cheeky, yet intelligent and wise storytelling, and as Mallory has also been studying his work for one of her Native Studies classes, the two of them were happy to guide me and Dave through Monkman's personal iconography. We especially enjoyed the frequent presence of Monkman's alter ego - the fabulous drag queen Miss Chief Eagle Testickle - and the ways in which she is used to mock and undermine stuffy Western conventions. So when the girls asked us if we wanted to go into Toronto with them yesterday to see Monkman's Shame and Prejudice: A Story of Resilience installation at the U of T, we were definitely on board.
This show is masterfully curated - with period white men's writings and paintings followed by Monkman's response from the other side of the picture - and it poses powerful questions at the beginning of Canada's Sesquicentennial year: Just what are we celebrating, and over whose dead bodies? Each room of the exhibit is themed - entitled Starvation or Fathers of Confederation or some such - and each room features parchments in English, French and a presumably Cree script. These parchments feature quotes from the "official record", followed by a suitable response by Miss Chief. For the room themed Urban Rez, the parchment is:
And I totally appreciate the anger behind that; I often nodded grimly at these documents. And when we got to the room entitled Forcible Transfer of Children, I was gutted by its parchment:
This is the room that features The Scream (as shown above), and this painting is arguably the highlight of the entire show. While I had seen a picture of it online before, I hadn't expected its exhibit space to include a display of empty baby carriers, and I nearly cried out when I saw them; they affected all of us.
(These empty baby carriers were reminiscent of when we went to Ottawa to see the Walking With Our Sisters display; the nearly 2000 pairs of empty moccasins that represent the missing and murdered indigenous women.)
The residential school legacy with its abduction of Native children - the theme of The Scream - is a hard thing for nice-guy Canadians to deal with, and it's an incredibly important issue for Monkman to explore with this piece. It's easy for us to get defensive; to complain that this was the policy of an earlier time; that we are not currently responsible for what happened then; that the well-meaning politicians in Ottawa couldn't have known what abuses were perpetrated in the far-flung schools. And while we want the whole thing to be consigned to the dead files of "ancient history", Native peoples are still living with the lingering effects of the residential school system: children who were taken from their parents, had all ties to their traditional beliefs and land and language beaten out of them, and in many cases suffered sexual abuse at the hands of despicable priests and nuns, do not grow up to know how to parent their own children. Inuit singer Susan Aglukark recently came forward to link the epidemic of Native youth suicides to the generational abuse initiated by residential schools (and one only need read the nasty denialist comments section on that article to get a sense of how the average Canadian responds to their pain).
And, as ever, as open as I am to the conversation, I feel powerless in the face of what Monkman is telling us with his art; I can't change the past and I have no political clout to improve the future. And yet, I do have my (very) small sphere of influence.
Working in a book store, every time I have been asked to select a Staff Pick for me to personally promote, I have always chosen a work of indigenous fiction. My first was Birdie (which seems to hold a clue as to why Native women expose themselves to the known dangers of Vancouver's Downtown East Side; residential schools and generational abuse are given their share of the blame), and to anyone who seems interested in this book, I'll also suggest Monkey Beach (another story that ends in Vancouver's most dangerous neighbourhood). This past Christmas, I was championing Wenjack (which exposes the reality of life at a residential school and a young boy's attempt to escape its abuses), and I am currently pushing The Break (which draws a straight line between residential schools and the current situation for Native children). As with Monkman's art, when people are trying to tell you about the reality of their lives, the least you can do is respectfully listen. My favourite thing is that I have children who are engaged with art and open to these difficult conversations.
Naturally, I want to celebrate Canada's 150th birthday this year - considering our place globally, I believe we have much to be proud of - but it's important to remember that the official story from the colonisers' point-of-view isn't the whole story. Long after we're dead and gone, art will endure; and Kent Monkman deserves to have his art endure as part of our official story.