I first encountered the concept of Biskaabiiyang in Wendy Makoons Geniusz’s Our Knowledge Is Not Primitive: Decolonizing Botanical Anishinaabe Teachings. The concept resonated with me; but because she is from the northwest part of our territory and I do not know her personally, I took the concept first to my language teacher and then to my Elder. I did this because I have learned that unless concepts have local meaning, it is difficult for them to have local resonance. I also thought that as a Michi Saagiig Nishnaabeg person, I could only really learn to understand this concept from within the web of relationships of my existence. While Biskaabiiyang might be an important and powerful cultural way to ground decolonization and resurgence work in other places, it was only going to be useful to me if it had meaning within my current relationships. Both my language teacher and my Elder immediately recognized the word and identified with the concept, which is not always the case when I bring them writing and words from Nishnaabeg writers. Biskaabiiyang then became a very useful and important Nishnaabeg way of grounding resurgence or decolonization as a “new emergence,” because it carries wide meaning and has resonance throughout our territory. To me, Biskaabiiyang means not just an evisceration of colonial thinking within individuals before a research project begins; it is a constant continual evaluation of colonialism within both individuals and communities. It also encompasses a visioning process where we create new and just realities in which our ways of being can flourish. Nonetheless, it is not just a visioning process. We must act to create those spaces—be they cognitive or spatial, temporal or spiritual—even if those spaces only exist for fragments of time.
While Biskaabiiyang encompasses the process for decolonizing, the term Zhaaganashiiyaadiziencompasses the process and description of living as a colonized or assimilated person.[6] Zhaaganashiiyaadizi occurs when a person tries to live his or her life as a non-Native at the expense of being Nishnaabeg. In other words, they become assimilated. Zhaaganashiiyaadizi is a process by which choices are made to the detriment of being Nishnaabeg. The key is “at the expense of being Nishnaabeg,” so one may adopt the ways of the non-Natives only to the extent that it does not negatively influence the core of one’s being.[7] I would caution against a racialized understanding of this term. My understanding of this word is indicative of the processes or the continual decisions that one might chose to make—decisions and choices which, in this case, supplant all of the beautiful and diverse ways of living as an contemporary Nishnaabeg. To me this means that we do not need to “go back” to “hunting with bows and arrows,” but we do need to practice ways of being and living in the world that are profoundly Nishnaabeg. It also means that there is a diversity of ways of being within a Nishnaabeg value system that encompasses being Nishnaabeg. For me, that means that there isn’t a single way of being Nishnaabeg. Rather, there is a set of processes, values, and philosophies embedded in our language and culture that one needs to embrace in order to live as Nishnaabeg. When viewed through a cultural lens, Biskaabiiyang is far from promoting an essential Nishnaabeg identity; instead, it promotes a diversity of political and cultural viewpoints within the Nishnaabeg worldview. There are many good ways to be Nishnaabe, but those ways are constructed and exist within our knowledge and our language.
However, to be able to appreciate that fluidity and diversity, one needs an in-depth knowledge of culture, language, philosophies and anishnaabe-gikendaasowin.
When we speak broadly about Indigenous resistance, we are essentially speaking about processes we engage in to prevent Zhaaganashiiyaadizi (our people from becoming colonized or assimilated). To me, that means we need to act against political processes that undermine our traditional forms of governance, our political cultures, our intellectual traditions, the occupation and destruction of our lands, violence against our children and women, and a host of many other issues. We must learn Nishnaabeg Gikendaasowin and Nishnaabemowin.
While Biskaabiiyang is a useful context to begin to explore what liberation and resurgence looks like within Indigenous thought, it is just the beginning. For Nishnaabeg people, our political and social cultures were profoundly non-hierarchical, non-authoritarian and non-coercive.[8] Our culture placed a profound importance on individuals figuring out their own path, or their own theoretical understanding of their life and their life’s work based on individual interpretation of our philosophies, teachings, stories and values. In combination with their own interpretation of the name or names they held within their society, clan responsibilities, and personal gifts or attributes, individuals were afforded a high level of autonomy within the community for exploring and expressing their responsibilities. This is sometimes framed as an “ethic of non-interference”[9] on the part of other community members. It is also coupled or twinned with individual responsibilities of figuring out one’s place in the cosmos and how to contribute to the collective while respecting oneself and one’s inner being.
Aanjigone
In exploring this “ethic of non-interference” with Elder Gdigaa Migizi, the Nishnaabe concept of Aanjigone emerged. Aanjigone is the idea that one needs to be very, very careful with making judgments and with the act of criticism. Aanjigone is a concept that promotes the framing of Nishnaabeg values and ethics in the positive. It means that if we criticize something, our spiritual being may take on the very things we are criticizing. It promotes non-interference by bringing forth the idea that if someone else does wrong, the “implicate order”[10] will come back on that person and correct the imbalance in some other way. Take an example from Gdigaa Migizi: if we “destroy the land to build a monster cottage on the side of a lake, we can expect this to come back on us in a negative way.”[11] There is then no need to criticize or be angry with the perpetrators because they will pay the price for their destructive action, one way or another, and this will be mediated by the Spiritual world. Our responsibility is to live our lives according to the teachings and values that were given to us with great love by Gzhwe Mnidoo.[12] But where does Aanjigone leave us in terms of building resurgence and protecting our lands? And what does Aanjigone mean in terms of the interrogation of colonialism? Academic critique?
Aanjigone ensures that if change or transformation occurs, it promotes Nishnaabeg ways of being and prevents Zhaaganashiiyaadizi. It also ensures that the interrogation or critique of decisions—or the consideration of all the possible consequences of a particular decision—is focused on the concept or decision rather than an individual. In a sense, critique is an internal process and the outcome is an individual action rather than an attack on another. Indeed, when an Elder is displeased with an action of one of his or her students, the Elder does not criticize that action, but is silent. Often at a later point, the Elder will use a story or an activity to convey a particular teaching in an indirect manner.
Very early on in my academic career as a PhD student, a non-Aboriginal academic began attacking my work and the work of my colleagues, writing that we had invented Indigenous Knowledge to propel our own careers, and that no such intellectual capabilities exists within Indigenous Peoples. The paper was immediately accepted for publication. My immediate reaction was to write a scathing academic critique of this particular paper. I consulted Anishinaabeg Elder Robin Greene-ba and asked for his thoughts. I particularly wanted to know if it was ethical for me as a Nishnaabekwe to intellectually attack the paper and critique this scholarship. There was no doubt in my mind that this was the correct thing to do as an academic. Robin answered my question by telling me a story. What I understood from his story was that the better way to proceed was to write a paper about what I thought Indigenous Knowledge was, about why it is important, and about how to promote it in a good way. He made sure I understood that I had a responsibility to do something. But he told me that particular story so I understood that what was truly important was how I took on that responsibility.
To me, this means that we must not spend all of our time interrogating and criticizing. We need to spend an enormous amount of energy
recovering and rebuilding at this point. Critique and revelation cannot in and of themselves create the kinds of magnificent change our people are looking for. We can only bring about that change by engaging in Biskaabiiyang. To me it means we need to be careful with our criticism. We should not blindly follow the academy’s love affair with criticism, ripping apart other Indigenous academics’ work—with whom we probably have more in common than virtually any other academics in the world. Instead, we should highlight the positive within each other’s work, and save our criticism for the forces that continually try to rip us apart. As Nishnaabeg legal scholar John Borrows writes, “[what Treuer views as authentic and inauthentic voices in Native American writing] … I view [as] different styles and methods of writing within Anishinabek genres and traditions. Recognizing diversity within Anishinabek expression allows for variations between authors, including the use of mixed metaphors, misplaced dialects, fragmentary memories, and fluid identities.”[13]
Aanjigone, as I understand it, means to focus within. Although I believe that part of Biskaabiiyang requires criticism and critical thinking, I think Aanjigone propels me towards the idea of focusing the majority of my energy on Nishnaabeg flourishment. Focusing within, I believe Nishnaabeg philosophies are telling me to live my life using Biskaabiiyang and Aanjigone to the best of my gifts and abilities. My interpretation of Aanjigone does not exclude taking action against the colonizer to protect our lands, our knowledge or our lives. Rather, it encourages us to think carefully and strategically about our responses rather than blindly reacting out of anger.
Naakgonige
The third concept I want to discuss by way of introduction into Nishnaabeg resurgence is Naakgonige.[14] Naakgonige is a culturally embedded concept that means to carefully deliberate and decide when faced with any kind of change or decision. It warns against changing for the sake of change, and reminds Nishnaabeg that our Elders and our Ancestors did things a certain way for a reason. For instance, Nishnaabeg did not (and do not) tell traditional Aandisokaanan stories in the spring, summer and fall. When I asked Gdigaa Migizi why, he explained that the spirits were farther away from the earth in winter and less likely to be offended. But he also said that it was his understanding that “something had happened” or an Elder “saw something” that caused them to conduct themselves in a certain way to avoid danger. He explained that we need to trust our Ancestors on certain things. When I asked him how he felt about contemporary storytellers and writers ignoring the tradition of only telling certain stories in the winter, he avoided passing judgment. He told me that he has no idea what they might have done beforehand to ensure that it was a good thing to do. Perhaps they had prayed and asked the spirits for guidance and that led them to make the decision. He only knew that he would not tell certain stories unless there was snow on the ground. In a similar way, Edna Manitowabi explained to me that we do not tell Animal stories or Nanabush stories in the spring, summer and fall because these beings are awake and active during this time and they could be around when we are speaking about them. While she was speaking, I thought about how my children react when I tell stories about them while they are present. They are often embarrassed, even if the stories are delightful in nature. In fact, most adults would feel the same. It makes complete sense that Nishnaabeg would offer the same level of respect to animals and spiritual entities.[15] It also ensures that we take our time with the winter stories and allow ourselves plenty of time to think about them. Similarly, Nishnaabemowin language expert Shirley Williams explained to me that the word Aandisokaanan also means that one is calling the spirits you are talking about,[16] something that should be done according to protocol and tradition. Naakgonige encourages one to deliberate and consider the impacts of decisions on all aspects of life and our relationships—the land, the clans, children, and the future. In a sense, it protected our people from engaging in Zhaaganashiiyaadizi because the process of Naakgonige meant that change, even on a personal level, was a long and deliberate process.
Naakgonige encourages Nishnaabeg people to make decisions slowly and carefully. Other words in Nishnaabemowin have meanings that are related to Naakgonige, warning to be careful or mindful. However, Naakgonige has a larger conceptual meaning. Another related word is Naanaagede’enmowin, the art of thinking to come to a decision. This is similar to Naakgonige in that it asks a person to sit and reflect on the weighing or measurement of a problem in order to figure out what needs to be done. It is a sorting of one’s thoughts so that a decision can be made, a plan to help out the caring part of the individual to listen and care for the heart and do the right thing. The heart must help or guide the mind to come to a good decision.[17]
To me, both the concepts of Naakgonige and Naanaagede’enmowin exemplify resistance. First, because they protect against Zhaagan-ashiiyaadizi. Second, they are culturally embedded processes that require individuals, clans and communities to carefully deliberate, not just in an intellectual sense, but using their emotional, physical and spiritual beings as well. For instance, if a language speaker were to engage in Naakgonige and Naanaagede’enmowin to decide whether or not to speak Nishnaabemowin to their children, they would have to consider the impact of that act on the child’s ability to perform their cultural responsibilities to their family, clan, community and nation. They would have to consider how that choice would impact the values of the child and their relationship to their territory. They would have to assess how that child would interact with Elders and the spiritual aspects of Nishnaabeg culture. They would have to consider the impact on that child’s identity, and their ability to comprehend what it is to be Nishnaabeg. The speaker would have to consider not only that child, but also the subsequent generations of the family; and they would have to allow their heart, or their emotional intellect, to guide that decision. By engaging Naakgonige and Naanaagede’enmowin, far fewer people might choose to speak only English to their children; or at the very least, more people may try to mitigate some of the negative impacts that loss of language might have on their family. Rather than blindly accepting the colonizers’ truths or acting out of fear, Naakgonige and Naanaagede’enmowin demand presence of mind and heart, engagement, thorough analysis, and a critical evaluation of the long-term impacts of decision making in terms of promoting mino bimaadiziwin and preventing Zhaaganashiiyaadizi—which, in my mind, is what resistance is all about.
I have thought a lot about how my Ancestors lived in the world. And over the past two decades, the values that have always stood out to me or that have been demonstrated to me, particularly through Elders, has been one of profound gentleness and profound kindness. In an interview with the Office of Specific Claims & Research in 1976, Nishnaabeg Elder Peter O’Chiese relayed that one of the first things given to the Nishnaabeg by Gzhwe Mnidoo was to be kind and have a gentle heart.[18] This idea permeates our culture and is expressed through countless words, stories and teachings. The word “Nengaajdoodimoowin—the art of being gentle or of doing something gentle to someone,”[19] is one expression of this idea. Gentleness was seen as strength because gentle people are highly sensitive to potential threats against mino bimaadiziwin. They are highly in tune with peace, the proper use of power and heart knowledge. It is that heart knowledge I would like to consider next.
Debwewin
Nishnaabeg Elder Jim Dumont explained the origins of the word debwewinto a group of students and community members at Trent University’s Annual Elders Conference in 2010. The word is normally translated as truth, and Dumont explained to us that he had difficulty breaking it down into its components, until an Elder told him to place the letter “o” in front of it. When one does that, the first component of the word is “ode” which means heart. The component “we” means the sound of. So (o)debwewin is “the sound of the heart;” or more specifically, in my own case, it is the sound of my heart. This means my truth will be different from someone else’s.[20] This idea has also been described by Murray Sinclair as a plurality of truth.[21] Elder Peter O�
��Chiese explained that each of the seven original clans has their own truth; and when you put those together, a new or eighth truth emerges.[22] These understandings are philosophically similar to Basil Johnston’s explanation:
Our word for truth or correctness or any of its synonyms is w’dae’b’wae, meaning ‘he or she is telling the truth, is right, is correct, is accurate.’ From its composition—the prefix dae, which means ‘as far as, inasmuch as, according to,’ and the root wae, a contraction of waewae, referring to sound—emerges the second meaning, which gives the sense of a person casting his or her knowledge as far as he or she can. By implication, the person whom is said to be dae’b’waeis acknowledged to be telling what he or she knows only insofar as he or she has perceived what he or she is reporting, and only according to his or her command of the language. In other words, the speaker is exercising the highest degree of accuracy possible given what he or she knows. In the third sense, the term conveys the philosophic notion that there is no such thing as absolute truth.[23]
These explanations are consistent with John Borrows’ explanation of diversity in terms of Nishnaabeg thought. Borrows explains that difference exists within Nishnaabeg thought. Rather than positioning this difference as “tension” or in an oppositional framing, diversity and difference are seen as necessary parts of the larger whole. The views expressed in this book are my own interpretations as a Nishnaabekwe from the gdigaa bzhiw doodem (bobcat clan) of the Michi Saagiig Nishnaabeg territory, as a mother, as an intellectual and a language learner. For me, gender plays an important role in my own perspectives, but my understandings of gender are not fully shared by other members of my nation. I have been taught that in the past, gender was conceptualized differently than the binary between male and female expressed in colonial society.[24] For Nishnaabeg people there was fluidity around gender in terms of roles and responsibilities. Often one’s name, clan affiliation, ability and individual self-determination positioned one in society more than gender, or perhaps in addition to gender. While I am not comfortable being confined to an essentialized version of Native womanhood defined by child birth,[25] I am also someone who has been profoundly transformed through giving birth, nursing and mothering. I will not apologize for fully participating in those ceremonies and honouring the teachings given to me through those ceremonies.
Dancing on Our Turtle's Back Page 6