https://abcnews.go.com/International/story?id=80952&page=1#.Tymk41wltKI
https://www.gallupsun.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=17065:letter-to-the-editor-honoring-larry-casuse&catid=185:letters-to-the-editor&Itemid=615
https://www.santafenewmexican.com/news/local_news/fifty-years-later-casuse-an-ancestor-and-a-predecessor-in-indigenous-struggle/article_a0e706b8-b2ee-11ed-88c2-372450fae035.html
https://indypendent.org/2022/05/the-brief-brave-life-of-larry-casuse/
https://jps.library.utoronto.ca/index.php/des/article/download/22829/19320/58582
“I am certainly aware that negative emotions such as anger and resentment have the potential to manifest themselves in disempowering and violent ways, I am not advocating for Indigenous peoples to be angry or to harbor hatred for the colonial world; rather, I am advocating that we love ourselves. At the same time, I am exploring my own resentment (or ressentiment) and attempting to apply my own understanding of Hul’qumi’num’ practice as a starting point to express emotions other than love. Finally, I remain unconvinced that ressentiment is not defensible as a potentially transformative subjectivity or affective reaction to the practices of the Canadian state in the past and present. The Western tradition is particularly obsessed with time, inventing different times (Fabian, 1983), exploitation of time, transcending time, evolution through time and so on. This is true for their conception of resentment and harm, that “ressentiment nails us to the past, blocks the exit to the future, twists or disorders the time-sense of the person trapped in it” (Brudholm, 2006, p. 21). For Hul’qumi’num’qun’ nations, we are more concerned with place, but in our big house when a harm or transgression is committed, it is addressed before the ceremony or family can move forward, and nobody in attendance is allowed to leave until there is resolution witnessed and the place where the incident occurred is cleansed by the women.
In Hul’qumi’num’, teytiyuq translates to angry, whereas qul’sthaat translates as anger that involves the entire body. The root words of qul’sthaat are qul’ and qul’aan. Qul’ is our word for eye, and qul’aan means a terrible thing that happened (in the past) that can be fixed, which suggests that some things can not be fixed. For Hul’qumi’num’qun’, anger is an embodied experience that is localized in our eyes and in our vision, how we see the world and how we are seen. For Hul’qumi’num’qun’, there are different forms of anger. Individuals must engage in certain practices to ensure protection for themselves and others from that anger, but certainly no outsider can assess the validity of another’s anger. Depending on the form, we have different practices that function to cleanse those feelings so that they do not harm that person or others in their family and community. Traditionally, and especially during ceremony today, if we are sad or angry we are instructed to not look other people in the eye for fear of hurting them, we say that our eyes are sharp. These cleansing practices, however, do not banish that anger and ask the person to forget, they are concerned with protecting the people from that anger so that it is not directed inward. Given that the violent colonial history of domination and dispossession of Indigenous peoples continues to structure our daily lives and has profound affects on our health, colonial rage overtly and covertly shapes our relations with self and Others. Indigenous women’s voices including those of love and anger must prefigure the politics of resistance and approaches to solidarity.
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In the city, in the classroom, or at a protest, there is always a settler seeking my recognition. She wants me to recognize that she is distanced from the others. She is innocent. Through her look, the Other wants me to see that she is a good settler, an ally. But my only thought is: Don’t smile at me. In Black Skin, White Masks, Fanon (1967) demonstrates the futility of appealing to the Other for recognition and instead identifies the enemy, “since the Other was reluctant to recognize me, there was only one answer: to make myself known” (p. 92). Similarly, when Indigenous peoples deploy ‘settler’ it identifies the enemy, whereas, when deployed by settlers it is often depoliticized and neutralized rather than counter-performative in its function. When the colonized are not grateful or fail to recognize and commend the self-decolonizing of the settler, we are resented.
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A settler political will should be willful, that is, willing to disobey a general will and always working toward an alternative future. Revolution is only possible when subjects violate the directives of commanding bodies, a willing willfulness to create the world anew by opposing the old orders (Foucault, 1982, p. 336). The will to change is simultaneously a negation and an affirmation. It is, as Foucault (1982) writes, “through the refusal of this kind of individuality that has been imposed on us” that new forms of subjectivity emerge (p. 336). The political will of decolonization refuses to reproduce the present and affirms alternative futures.”
“The powers of the world are invested in destroying time like subsidised corn burning in a field”
– Porpentine Charity Heartscape
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From Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky’s short story, ‘Collector of Cracks’:
The jerkiness of our vision, the discontinuousness of our perception of a motion picture, say, is a fairly well-known fact. But to face that fact is not enough: One must go inside it. Wedged in between instants – when the film, having withdrawn one image from the retina, is advancing so as to produce another – is a split second when everything has been taken from the eye and another new given it. In that split second the eye is before emptiness, but it sees it: Something unseen seems seen.
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From Stuck in a Sticky Shed with Side Chain Compression by Kristen Gallerneaux:
Stone, slime, mud and soundwaves are mineral level media with opinions. The taboo that connects the grime to the shine of our everyday digital life is on Drew’s mind too:
The tools I use are haunted by the souls that made them and origin in which they were conceived. It feels inescapable, as I type on my mid-2014 MacBook Pro. All the techno-wonders just feel drenched in exploitation – or bad vibrations – embedded in the circuitry.
All from Magic Work: Queerness as Remystification by Caspar Heinemann:
In Huxtable’s world of clashing im/materialities, not only is neither the immaterial nor the material privileged or relegated, but neither side is allowed to exist without the other. She plays with the idea of the physical as something that can be removed, but the body is never more than a few sentences away, ready to react. Meatspace is a force constantly acting upon and recreating the ether (and vice versa), and the boundaries between them are blurred and unstable; ‘fat, bones, bodily fluids, pocketed dishes, and photos on faulty hard-drives’ exist in the same breath. There’s no space for the material of the body to become subservient to the subject, or the reverse
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Preoccupation with death and violence is preoccupation with materiality and the object; to get literal and dualistic, the process of dying is a process of moving from subject to object. Objectification has always been characterised as violence, but for Bronson, dying is a lifelong process, entirely embedded into the fabric of life, giving another way in which the body always inhabits a liminal space between object and subject. What would an objectification that is not violent or forced, but embraced and embodied look like? Or a weaponised objectification, liberated from the demands of representation, free to turn against itself. Bronson’s insistence on the ubiquity of death presents a possibility, an encouragement to embrace the letting go of a cohesive subject represented by a singular physical form.
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One attempt at cosy accommodation or recuperation of trans bodies into the gender binary has been the trope of the man/woman trapped in the body of the man/woman, which somehow manages to imply that bodies both signify everything, and count for nothing. The body is a reflection, not even a mirror; it cannot be trusted as representation, or allowed the dignity of being material in and of itself. The flesh must be situated as subservient to the mind, but the mind has no actual power to alter the flesh. Judith Butler critiqued this from the position that sex is no more an objective fact than gender itself, which becomes ‘free-floating artifice’ after being theorised as independent of sex. But why wait? And as if anything is independent anymore (if it ever was). Talking of floating, when I think of subject I think of it as a liquid with objects floating in it, some of which rise to the surface or sink, according to weight or hormones or the natural order of things.
‘I HATE MEN SO I STOPPED BEING ONE’ – tumblr user sixtyforty. The dictionary.com definition of trans- (prefix) is a root meaning ‘across, beyond, through, changing thoroughly’. The trans body is a body perpetually signified by changing thoroughly; don’t even think about staying still, you can’t. This is of course true of all bodies, just some wear it more readily on their sleeves or secondary sex characteristics, in the way that all bodies are ageing bodies but only some people have an ageing body.
“Having a God and becoming one’s gender go hand in hand. God is the other that we absolutely cannot be without. In order to become, we need some shadowy perception of achievement; not a fixed objective, not a One postulated to be immutable but rather a cohesion and a horizon that assures us the passage between past and future, the bridge of a present that remembers, that is not sheer oblivion and loss, not a crumbling away of existence […].”
Excerpts from “What’s on the earth is in the stars; and what’s in the stars is on the earth”: Lakota Relationships with the Stars and American Relationships with the Apocalypse
by Suzanne Kite (https://www.c21uwm.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/03/Kite_Whats-on-earth-is-in-the-stars_2021.pdf):
The same logic that allows for the consumption of Indigenous spiritual practices allows for the possession and destruction of the land and nonhumans. That same logic sees nonhuman extraterrestrials as simultaneously futuristic and evolved or reptilian and nefarious. In this many-headed imagining of the alien colonization of Earth, the Euro-American becomes “indigenous” through the act of being attacked, a distorted metaphor and a move to innocence for the invasions that are promised during American wars: the attack of the Japanese and Nazis, the attack of Communists, and the ongoing promised attacks on “freedom” by immigrants, Asian Americans, Latinx laborers, BLM activists, antifascists, Muslims, and whoever else is designated an enemy by the United States. Only through violence and war are settler futures imagined.
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In examining the geography of a haunted space, one can imagine the American map like Borges’s Unconscionable Map laid over the land itself. The new map that has been laid over the continent is haunted by the land just beneath the surface. An American mythological past is created through the blending of the paranormal with the landscape, an attempt to embed a settler past to create a settler future. Revealing the bias of settler sciences requires examining settler desires and beliefs, which ultimately form new myths and new gods. Over the relatively short history of the American identity, American mythologies have been developed through song, costume, literature, policy, and media. The phenomenon of Tumblr witches or the post-1970 desire to invent American Indian ancestors speaks to the desperation of the American to create their indigeneity.
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In the Euro-American context, ghosts are defined by both Christian teachings and Spiritualist understandings, even thought of as possible results of time travelers, “humanoids,” and other paranormal theories about hauntings. Looking toward cultural phenomena such as the stories of Washington Irving, the adoption of Hallowe’en, the explosion of spiritualism in 1848, and the satanic panic in the 1990s, it is clear that much of the American paranormal landscape is a direct manifestation of European conceptualizations of the afterlife and borrowed mythologies that have been laid over on top of the Americas, resulting in a pantheon of phenomena which persist today. In contemporary paranormal media, hauntings often start in the late 1800s, coinciding with the era of American Spiritualists. During the Spiritualist movement in particular, Euro-Americans living on “American” land were holding séances, while Indians living on Indian land were being starving to death and actively murdered as a part of the genocidal project. The idea of a haunting on Turtle Island, or any location, implies layers of beliefs, layers of living and the dead cohabitating: Americans, Canadians, white settlers implanting their own ghosts, layering their own stories over the top of the map, an attempt to retroactively own that location.
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In a recent conversation, artist Scott Benesiinaabandan spoke about the popularity of paranormal media: “Most non-indigenous people’s interaction with the mystery is they want to provoke it. This is like talking ghost stories around a campfire, right? They want proof or they want the thrill. They want to put their finger in the dark well of the mystery, but they’re not really wanting to be in that whole lake of mystery.”
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In 1998, a group of Dene elders from Northwest Canada traveled to Hiroshima to meet with survivors and descendants of survivors of the atomic bomb dropped some fifty years earlier. Some of the uranium used to kill more than 200,000 people in Japan had been mined and transported by Dene men, many of whom died years later from radiation-related disease. The six Dene elders came from where the earth had been torn up to the place where earth and sky were ripped apart like never before. They came to Hiroshima to apologize and to recognize the shared radioactive reality between people touched by the detonation of the bomb and those who unwittingly touched the materials that would make such a weapon. Nobody from the Canadian government was present, none among those who had exploited the miner’s bodies and their homelands and willingly aided the construction of the atomic bomb ever made the journey.
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Stones, taken from Indigenous lands using Indigenous bodies, and transformed into radioactive materials, is the material result of the American fear of the unknown enfolded with fear of nuclear radiation and executed as warfare and violence. This will be the materials of further colonization into space.
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Rieder proposes that “the way colonialism made space into time gave the globe a geography not just of climates and cultures, but of stages of human development that could confront and evaluate on another.” The colonial sense of progress is indelibly fixed to an unrelenting linear timeline towards a settler future, where Indigenous peoples are the uncivilized past, American white-superiority the present, and Mars colonization and extraterrestrials the future.