Reflections on grad school: semester 1

Disclaimer: All thoughts shared below are my own. I do not represent my program, my university, or any other students/staff/faculty within it.

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A few months ago, I was so excited to return to school again; at the time, I called my Master’s the education opportunity beyond my wildest dreams. As a queer feminist, studying Gender, Race, Sexuality and Social Justice seemed like a perfect fit. My campus was beautiful, and as one of the chosen “lucky eleven” students, being accepted made me feel special. I knew going into my program that Indigeneity would not be a focus of the program, but I figured as long as my thesis research was Indigenous-focused, I would be fine.

It was foolish to ever think that I could shove my Anishinaabe self back into some figurative identity closet.

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I shared with a faculty member that everything I do academically is in service of the communities I belong to. They remarked, “That’s an Indigenous worldview”. I shrugged off what she said and carried on with our conversation. Later that day, I clued in.

Whether to make more money in the workforce, gain tenure-track faculty positions, or become famous for their theoretical contributions, there are people in this world who go to university for their own personal gain. I’m not saying my decision to go to graduate school was entirely altruistic; but I will say that thinking of how I can best serve my ancestors, my communities, and my future kin was the most integral factor in my decision.

I cannot disentangle myself from this worldview I carry. And yet, I feel as though academia constantly makes that ask of me.

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In my first month’s reflection, cracks were already starting to show. I admitted then that my journey was more emotionally draining and time-consuming than I expected. I stayed hopeful because I saw value in the connections I was making with my cohort.

We’ve grown closer than ever, to be clear. They even brought me a dessert tray (with candles for me to blow out) in celebration of my upcoming Aotearoa move. It is their support that has kept me going each week.

But, it is apparent to me now that universities are vehicles for the continuation of settler colonialism. As Leanne Betasamosake Simpson summarizes so well in Land As Pedagogy,

“My experience of education was one of continually being measured against a set of principles that required surrender to an assimilative colonial agenda in order to fulfil those principles” (150).

Most of the time, I am the only Indigenous person in the room advocating for the perspective of my nation, and Indigenous nations everywhere, to be heard. It is exhausting work that makes me feel as though I am up against settler colonialism at every turn.

As a result, I have grown increasingly jaded with “the academy” as an institution. After my experience thus far, I’m not sure I have it in me to continue onto law school or a Ph.D. But if I were to make a return to this school after graduating, here are the things I hope would change.

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See the inherent value of every student.

In Ross Gay’s Dispatches From the Ruins (a chapter of his book Inciting Joy), he discusses the practices he’s implemented to foster a more meaningful learning environment. One of these practices includes only giving A’s to all of his students, which sounds radical (and perhaps it is). Here’s how he argues in favour of it:

“In [the] grading system, in which everything - approval, advancement, entry, reward- is based on the grade, the learning will inevitably be secondary to compliance or the ability to follow directions” (153).

I’ve been outspoken in my classes lately. Having said some uncouth things, I’ve asked those in supervisory positions whether my comments will negatively affect my grades. “You’re fine,” they tell me, explaining that “everyone gets As in graduate school”. The grading choices in my classes feel arbitrary.

If that’s the case, why do professors choose not to give A’s to their undergraduate students? Why are universities so selective about their graduate school acceptances? When the opportunity is there to see the inherent value in every learner, why are we so often choosing not to?

This scarcity mindset, of judging students by how well they adhere to university rules, stifles the joy and beauty that can be found in actual learning. I would much rather admit to being a beginner and making mistakes while being held by mentors who see the value my gifts hold to make this world a better place.

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Make learning free and accessible to all.

This week, a group of students organized a protest against raising tuition fees at a UBC board meeting. They were met with swift dismissal, and the Board voted in favour of raising tuition fees anyway. They did so, knowing that this policy choice negatively affects students, and makes receiving an education even more inaccessible than it already is.

For reference, post-secondary education is a privilege few of us have access to while in “Canada”, 54% of adults have a university degree, this access is not equal for everyone; only 10.9% of Indigenous people have a university degree. This number drops to 5.4% for those who grow up on reserve.

While there are many factors that contribute to the lower rates of post-secondary education attainment for Indigenous peoples (including the burden of relocating from one’s community, lack of culturally relevant curricula, and intergenerational trauma from the residential school system), it cannot be denied that insufficient funding plays a large role in this discrepancy. Especially when Indigenous peoples experience the highest levels of poverty of any demographic in “Canada”.

While some post-secondary students receive some Indian band-provided education funding, this funding is not disseminated to everyone, and it often does not cover all of their expenses. Those of us left unsupported by our bands often rely on scholarship funding through organizations like Indspire, which receive much of their funding from corporate entities (Hudson Bay Foundation), fossil fuel subsidiaries (Suncor Energy Foundation), and big banks (CIBC), the very institutions that have harmed us for centuries.

Indigenous students shouldn’t be forced to accept the appeals of our oppressors to get an education.

“Canada” is failing to meet its obligations in the Truth and Reconciliation Commission Call 10.I: “Providing sufficient funding to close identified educational achievement gaps within one generation”. However, the country could easily resolve this by providing free, accessible post-secondary education to everyone. They should take notes from countries like Denmark, Norway, Finland, Sweden, Germany, Iceland and others, who have already successfully done so.

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Stop treating Indigenous peoples as an afterthought.

Every time I met someone with more power than I do to instil change, I arrived at a dead end. “Change is slow,” I’ve been told with half-hearted shrugs, “Maybe try going to an Indigenous event”.

I’m grateful for the Vancouver Indigenous Student Collegium and the First Nations House of Learning on campus; I did my best to make the most of visiting them this semester. However, these resources were introduced to me late in the semester, long after I began struggling.

Here are some things that should have been in place; for me, and for all Indigenous students:

• Someone to tell me about all the resources available to me, during my first week of studies;

• Peers to visit these spaces with, so that I felt comfortable in them;

• An Indigenous-specific counsellor, who could provide me with trauma-informed and culturally specific mental health support;

• More faculty, staff and students who looked like me and shared my life experiences;

• An administration receptive to the concerns raised by Indigenous students.

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Learn from and with Indigenous cosmologies.

Something I have been immensely frustrated with over the course of this semester is the insistence of non-Indigenous scholars to pass off teachings originally held by Indigenous nations as their own, without giving credit where it is due. I wonder if perhaps this happens because “scholars are asked to become entrepreneurs, producing ourselves as brands and seeking stardom from the very first days of our studies, when we know nothing” (Tsing, 2015).

One example that comes to mind is quantum physics. I won’t pretend that it is something I can fully wrap my head around yet, but it has come up often in my classes. Some theorists echo many of the teachings that my nation has held since time immemorial: indeterminacy as an embodiment of "the great mystery" of all things, for example, and an interrelated connectedness to everything from plants and animals to the cosmos.

Drawing attention to these similarities, and asked my professor, “Why is it that the things I know intuitively had to be made into a philosophical academic commodity, learned, taught and disseminated by a non-Indigenous scholar in order to be listened to by us?”

They responded, “Oh it’s not the same. Quantum physics places man at the centre”.

But here’s the thing: It is wrong to cherry-pick Indigenous teachings to make your own point without giving credit where it’s due. To do so is theft of our beautiful, animatedly existent cosmologies. It is especially violent, given that these cosmologies were devalued for centuries through both Indian Act policy (e.g. Banning the sun dance and potlatch) and the residential school system. That needs to be acknowledged.

Seriously commit to decolonizing, and giving the land back.

When I first came to UBC, I was so impressed by its inclusion of a Musqueam elder in my graduate orientation, as well as the totem poles that decorate the campus, mainly because it was so much more representation than I ever saw at my alma mater. However, I have since learned the history behind this institution and realized that UBC is as complicit as every other university in Indigenous displacement and invisibilization.

University of British Columbia’s main campus is located on the unceded homelands of the Musqueam Nation. The university was provincially mandated through the 1907 Act to Aid the University of British Columbia by a Reservation of Provincial Lands and the 1908 Act to Establish and Incorporate a University for the Province of British Columbia. Point Grey was selected as the location for this 175-acre university because it was “close to, but not part of, Vancouver”. This UBC purported narrative of Point Grey as an undisturbed, waiting-to-be-developed plot of land is an example of Terra Nulius doctrine that attempts to obscure a much darker truth: the Crown made these decisions about Musqueam land without Musqueam consent.

How can we even begin to decolonize this institution when to this day, it sits upon stolen land? As Eve Tuck and K. Wayne Yang’s oft-cited essay declares, “Decolonization is not a metaphor”. Rather, decolonization requires “the repatriation of Indigenous land and life”; when the university does anything short of this, they are continuing to uphold their own colonial legacy.

The logistics of dismantling UBC and returning its lands to the Musqueam nation are complex, I know. But in the midst of a world headed towards (and already experiencing) an unprecedented, existence-altering climate catastrophe, isn’t it time to decolonize and radically rethink the way Indigenous lands are treated; especially when it is Indigenous peoples who hold the much-needed knowledge to restore our relationship with mother earth?

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I am cognizant that making these asks on my personal blog will not result in the change I seek. Maybe it would make more of a statement to leave this institution. I have considered it. But I will stick it out, because I refuse to lose out on my cohort, scholarship funding, thesis research, and future career pathways this degree can open up. Mama didn’t raise a quitter, so I will not quit.

But I will not tacitly accept the way myself, and other Indigenous students, are treated in this institution.

I will keep pushing through while resisting in the ways I know how: sharing my experiences openly, demanding more from the institution I pay to provide me with an education, and advocating for decolonization to be at the forefront of social justice rather than its afterthought.

Mostly, I write this because one day I will be on the other side of this institution; perhaps an author, a lawyer, a professor, or all three. When that day comes, I want my twenty-something writings to serve as a reminder; both of what I endured to make it and the better conditions I want to instil for generations of post-secondary Indigenous students to come.