Native writers face a subtle segregation

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THE URBANE INDIAN

It's no secret that within the last 20 years or so the growth in First Nations literature has been both impressive and voluminous. Native authors such at Lee Maracle, Tomson Highway, Jeanette Armstrong, Tom King and Basil Johnston, to name only a few, have flooded the nation's book stores with a surprising quantity and quality of writings.

Because of this popularity, Native literature and its practitioners have become increasingly visible on the festival circuit. Just this summer alone, I was lucky enough to have been invited to Italy's Turin International Book Fair, the Lakefield Literary Festival and the Eden MillsWriters' Festival.

But with this acknowledgement of our voice, one can not help but notice a surprising trend at some of these festivals, a trend that on the surface hints at the possibility of a unique form of literary segregation, however unintentional.

A few months ago in Lakefield, two other writers and I were on the program in the afternoon slot called First Nations Writers: Then and Now. The other writers were Kateri-Akiwenzie Damm and the well-known biographer Charlotte Gray, who to the best of my knowledge is not Native, but had written an excellent book called Flint & Feather: The Life and Times of E. Pauline Johnson, Tekahionwake, which detailed the life of the turn-of-the-century Mohawk poet. I guess that gave Charlotte the necessary credentials for the day.

Just last month, I was invited to read at the Eden Mills Writer's Festival just outside of Guelph, Ont. with Tom King and many other talented Aboriginal writers. We were scheduled to read in what was called the Aboriginal Area, though I believe Tom King did manage an appearance in one of the mainstream tents. A non-Native friend of mine who attended our reading commented that his first thought on seeing the Aboriginal Area sign was that it suggested a sense of marginalization.

Attending these two events, I couldn't help wondering if this "apartness" was necessarily a good thing. I also acknowledged what a confusing issue it was. I enjoy and look forward to reading and participating with my Aboriginal brother and sister writers, since we all share many of the same origins and inspirations. But keeping that in mind, are we ghettoizing ourselves or allowing ourselves to be ghettoized?

The noteworthy George Elliot Clarke, one of Canada's leading Black poets and authors, was also at Eden Mills, but I don't remember seeing an Afro-Canadian Area. Though, in a conversation we had some time back, he does acknowledge some Mi'kmaq blood from his Nova Scotia ancestors. Maybe he should have read with us.

Now please don't get me wrong. I am not being critical or judgmental of these festivals. As an author I am damn glad to be invited anywhere where literature (Native or non-Native) is celebrated.

I was also taught from a young age that a guest should never criticize his host.

Both festivals were fabulously run, a lot of fun, and we were all treated very well. I came away with only good memories and new friends. In fact, it was my third trip to the Lakefield Festival, and I hope to be invited back to both festivals again and again. I should also point out the Eden Mills Aboriginal Area was conceived by the town's First Nation's residents, wanting to highlight and honor the First Nations voice and word. As I said, the questions get complicated. And so do the answers.

Several years ago I was asked to read at the famous Toronto International Authors Festival. In fact, I opened for the American author E. L. Doctrow, whom, I'm fairly certain, has no tribal or Native affiliation (but I could be wrong). I was just another writer hanging out with a couple other writers. I felt like a grown up author ready to compete with the world's best.

More recently, the perception of Native people in the writing world has become even more complex, if that's possible. Once, not long ago, we were the tragically oppresed, depressed and supressed minority struggling to reclaim our voice. Contracts were put out on W.P Kinsella and woe to the non-Native person who dared to create a story in an Aboriginal context. Nowadays, the definition, or perhaps the better word would be categorization, of the Native voice has become a more difficult task.

On Oct. 5th, as part of this year's Weesageechak Begins To Dance Festival, Native Earth Performing Arts held a Native playwrights' symposium. Several First Nations playwrights participated in a panel discussion titled Dances With Mainstream, which dealt with getting the Aboriginal voice out into the dominant culture.

Right afterwards, I immediately caught a bus to Peterborough where I had been asked to attend another panel discussion put together by PEN CANADA, an organization that champions oppressed writers around the world. The panel was titled Splitting Heres: Literary Elucidations of Exile, Refuge, Voice and Identity.

So, if I understand this properly, in the morning I was mainstream. A couple hours later, and a hundred or so kilometres away, I was oppressed.

How do you dress for something like that?