Erin Strachan's Research Paper 2009

Listen, Laugh and Learn: Humour’s Disarming Role in Aboriginal Pedagogy
Erin Strachan
Research Paper
School of Canadian Studies
Advisor: Allan J. Ryan
Second Reader: Peter Thompson

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I dedicate this paper to my parents, who were probably the first people to laugh at me. Without
their support I doubt if I would be travelling this path, which I am so grateful to be on.

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Table of Contents
Introduction 4
Overview/Thesis 6
Literature Review/Theoretical Framework 7
Methodology 12
Chapter One—Situating Myself: Unlearning and Relearning History 16
Chapter Two—History/Context: The Continuity of Aboriginal Pedagogy 20
Chapter Three—Laugh and Learn: Trickster Teachings in Fish Out of Water 35
Chapter Four—Implications: The Potential Role of Humour in Postcolonial Pedagogy 53
Conclusion 69
Acknowledgements 73
Works Cited 75

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Introduction
Both the humour and the pedagogical practices of Aboriginal peoples1
have gained
increasing academic attention over the last decade. While the traditional academic disciplines
have been slow to consider the value of Indigenous Knowledge, history and perspectives, new
disciplines and interdisciplinary studies seek to explore the experience and understanding that
comes with living off the land since time immemorial. Les Findlay explains how Aboriginal
peoples and the newcomers do not always share the same respectful intercultural approach:
“Aboriginal peoples have had to wait centuries for settler societies and waves of immigrants to
catch up with them in dealing respectfully with all life forms, especially the ones on which our
very survival depends” (xiii). While Christian scriptures insist that human beings have dominion
over nature, Indigenous perspectives hold that human beings are simply a part of nature. Humans
are interconnected with nature and this interconnection is based on reciprocity. In this view,
human beings both benefit from and bear significant responsibilities for the earth and its
resources—its animals, plants and waterways. This respectful approach to all other forms of life
holds particular relevance in the current global movement to curb the ongoing destruction of our
planet. Of course, the respectful approach that Findlay describes also extends to other human
beings. One need look no further than the way treaties were negotiated to see the respect that has
always been given to the settlers, even though this respect has seldom been properly
reciprocated.
Or consider the deep respect for children that underlies traditional Aboriginal childrearing
practices. Sioux educator, Martin Brokenleg, explains that the common admonishment, “You are
1
I will be using the terms Aboriginal, Indigenous and Native to refer to First Nations, Métis and Inuit people in
Canada. I will use these terms interchangeably to avoid repetition. In addition, I will use Native American to refer to
Aboriginal peoples south of the imposed Canada-U.S. border.

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acting childish,” in his Native Lakota language, translates directly to “You are acting like a
sacred being.” As Brokenleg explains, “With such a respectful term as sacred being for
childhood, it was not surprising that Native Americans exercised great care in nurturing the
sacred little ones in our midst. Children were quite literally the purpose of life” (“Mastery” 194).
If Canadians adopted the view that children are the purpose of life, how might we organize
differently? Would the government still cut funding to the education system? Would we allow
our children to go hungry or remain homeless? In addition, in the Aboriginal worldview, children
are not the only ‘sacred beings’ to which we are responsible; this responsibility and respect
extends to one’s grandchildren, great grandchildren, great great grandchildren…all the way to
the seventh generation. How often does the average Canadian consider life on earth that far into
the future? How differently might we live if we were honestly accountable to the seventh
generation, in the same way that we are accountable to our own children?
These are only a few examples of the key Aboriginal philosophies that are slowly
infiltrating academia. These same philosophies underpin the teaching and learning practices that
I will be discussing here. These philosophies and practices have much to teach non-Aboriginal
Canadians. We have long been denied an opportunity to learn from Indigenous people. John
Ralston Saul explains this lack of information in the Canadian education system:
To the extent that schooling is designed by our departments of education, it is still
more often than not constructed as a straight rejection of the Aboriginal reality. For
that reason it needs to be rethought to create a balance. But we also need urgently to
begin building [Aboriginal] culture into the broad Canadian education system—into
our schools and universities—for Canadians as a whole. Not simply into specialized
courses, but into the ways we look at geography, at history, at philosophy, at poetry
as much as at justice (“A Fair Country” 103).
As Saul suggests, restructuring the education system to incorporate Aboriginal epistemologies
would benefit all students, as these methods offer a respectful and holistic approach to teaching

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and learning. As Indigenous Knowledge is revalued and more widely taught, Canadians have a
second chance to learn from Aboriginal peoples. Saul explains this second chance that
Canadians are getting:
[We are] lucky…because the Aboriginal people are making a remarkable comeback
in numbers, in leadership and in a highly-modern expression of their ideas, which
are the philosophical roots of this country. The return in force of the Aboriginal
peoples means that Canada is getting a second chance to get it right. Very few
countries are offered such a second chance. We should embrace it. We should
embrace it with enthusiasm (“Aboriginals and New Canadians”).
Through an honest consideration of Aboriginal history, philosophy, epistemology, pedagogy
and environmental stewardship, non-Aboriginal Canadians can embrace this second chance to
enter a respectful relationship with the people of the land. Of course, this will require humility,
which, as I hope to demonstrate later, can potentially be facilitated by humour.
Overview/Thesis Statement
Drawing on the wisdom of Aboriginal scholars and educators regarding the history of
Aboriginal pedagogy, this paper will discuss how these traditional teaching practices were
ruptured by colonial violence. Indigenous life ways—philosophies, epistemologies, worldviews
and pedagogies—were considered worthless and primitive by the European settlers and
consequently great efforts were made to eradicate them through the residential school system.
However, in spite of this colonial violence, Aboriginal ways are regenerating. This paper will
demonstrate the continuity of Aboriginal pedagogical practices by examining the contemporary
Aboriginal television show, Fish Out of Water, which, since 2008, has aired on the Aboriginal
People’s Television Network (APTN). This show, now shooting its third season, exemplifies
the current movement to reclaim Aboriginal pedagogical practices. These teaching practices—
which employ humour as an important teaching tool—are viable methods for affirming and

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transmitting cultural knowledge. Considering the history of Aboriginal education, and offering
a characterization of Aboriginal humour, this paper will examine specific examples from Fish
Out of Water and argue that humour has an important role to play in the reparation of
Indigenous cultures.
Literature Review/ Theoretical Framework
In this section, I offer a review of the major sources that I use to make my argument in
subsequent chapters. First I will outline the main bodies of theory that I will be pulling together
to demonstrate my main argument: that Aboriginal education uses disarming humour in
productive ways and that this has significant implications for improving postcolonial teaching
and learning. These theories include: humour theory and education theory and within these
categories theory that pertains specifically to Aboriginal humour and education respectively, as
well as a smaller body of cultural theory that examines cross-cultural relationships. After
describing each theory, I will give a brief review of the major sources, demonstrating their
relevance to the needs of this research project. It is my hope that this review will shed light on
my particular approach and ground the reader in this discussion.
Since my current research concerns humour, I have drawn on theories of humour of a
general nature, as well as theories specific to Aboriginal humour2
(see Chapter 3, pg 35). I will
be drawing on episodes from the first two seasons of Fish Out of Water for my analysis of the
humour in this series (also in Chapter 3, pg 35). Arguing for the benefits of a more conscious use
of humour in postsecondary classrooms, I draw heavily from Stephenson and Thibault, Decker
and Blyth as these authors specifically examine the role of humour in education. Stephenson and
2
The Aboriginal humour theory includes Marie Annharte Baker 1991, Molly Blyth 2009, Vine Deloria 1969,
Lawrence Gross 2007, Michael Garrett 2005, Drew Hayden Taylor 2006 (this source contains articles from Ian
Ferguson, Thomas King and Don Kelly, who is the host of Fish Out of Water) and Allan J. Ryan 1999.

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Thibault, in their book Laughing Matters: Strategies for Building a Joyful Learning Community,
explain the benefits of using humour to enhance students’ learning potential. Furthermore, they
argue that using humour in education can help to create a more productive and enjoyable
learning environment for teachers and students alike. Additionally, they provide specific
strategies for employing humour both inside and outside of the classroom. Decker, in her PhD
dissertation titled Making Sense with the Sense of Humor: An Examination of the Joke as a
Hermeneutic Unit and its Potential Place in Education, argues that humour can be used as a
valid approach to learning that helps learners to be flexible and experiment with ideas. For this
research, Decker conducted a teacher education graduate course at UBC, which focused on using
humour in the classroom as an approach to teaching and learning. The very existence of this
study suggests that many Western classrooms, to this day, discourage humour or fail to
understand its potential for learning. This is in keeping with the ideology held by many Canadian
educators who view learning as serious business. Decker’s writing suggests that while the
Western educational tradition often lacks humour, individual teachers and learners often bring
their humour to the classroom and see good reasons to do so. Decker’s argument is refreshing as
she insists that developing a sense of humour and using it consciously in teaching and learning
can enhance the learning environment. Blyth’s dissertation, ‘Tricky Stories are the Cure:’
Contemporary Indigenous Writing in Canada explores the educational benefits of studying
humour in Indigenous literature. Her observations of the interpersonal dynamics of her
classroom are more relevant to my argument than her discussion of trickster literature, as I seek
to explore the ways humour can impact classroom relationships. Blyth’s students use humour to
build productive classroom relationships and minimize the tension caused by difficult
postcolonial discussions. Stephenson and Thibault, Decker and Blyth agree that humour is

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beneficial in the classroom to break down barriers between teachers and students and create a
more productive learning environment. I draw from their research to support my thesis regarding
the positive role of disarming humour in the postcolonial classroom.3
Since my paper ultimately argues for a more conscious and widespread use of humour in
the classroom, and critiques post secondary classroom environments, education theory is the
most significant body of theory drawn from (see Chapter 4, pg 53). Again, this combines general
educational theory4
and that pertaining particularly to Aboriginal peoples. The latter includes
writings which contextualize residential schools and work that examines contemporary issues in
Indigenous education and cross-cultural education. These are explained in further detail below.
Since I examine colonial attempts to eradicate Indigenous teaching methods, particularly
through the residential school period, many of my sources provide ample historical background
or detail the experience and effects of residential schools. The primary sources employed are two
edited volumes put forward by the Aboriginal Healing Foundation. Volume One, From Truth to
Reconciliation: Transforming the Legacy of Residential schools (2008), is edited by Marlene
Brant Castellano, Linda Archibald and Mike DeGagné and includes articles by Beverley Jacobs
and Andrea Williams, Stan McKay, Bradford Morse, William Mussell and Brian Rice and Anna
Synder. Volume Two, Response, Responsibility, and Renewal: Canada’s Truth and
Reconciliation Journey (2009), is edited by Greg Younging, Jonathan Dewar and Mike DeGagné
and includes articles by Peter Harrison and John Ralston Saul. These publications offer key
historical information on the assimilation policies that led to the creation of the schools, as well
3
I will be using the term postcolonial classroom to refer to classes that confront colonial history and examine the
relationship between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal Canadians. While I am mainly referring to postsecondary
classes with such subject matter, the term can also apply to high school history and Native Studies classes.
4
For general education theory I used work from scholars of critical pedagogy, such as Paulo Freire 1970, bell hooks
2003 and Monica McLean 2006.

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as testimonials from survivors. For additional historical information, I consulted The Historical
development of the Indian Act, edited by John Leslie, Kahn-Tineta Miller, Ron Maguire and
Robert G. Moore (1978), as well as A Victorian Missionary and Canadian Indian Policy;
Cultural Syntheses vs Cultural Replacement by David Nock (1988) regarding nineteenth century
Canadian Indian policy which helped me understand specific policies that led to, and upheld, the
residential school system.
Several additional sources examine contemporary Indigenous education, ranging from
early childhood education through to postsecondary and life-long learning. Martin Brokenleg’s
three articles from 1999 focus on early education and compare a Sioux approach to a Western
one. These examine Native American perspectives on generosity, on mastery and finally, with
co-writers StevenVan Bockern and Larry Brendtro, on the raising of respectful children. I use
these articles to elucidate the main differences between Indigenous and Euro-North American
educational philosophies. Useful too were several edited anthologies which examine Aboriginal
education in Canada.5
Finally, I used several sources which examine Indigenous postsecondary
education in particular.6
I draw on this theory to examine the relevance of Aboriginal
epistemology and pedagogy to the Canadian postsecondary system.
5
These include a book edited by Marie Battiste in 2000 called Reclaiming Indigenous Voice and Vision (which
includes articles by Gregory Cajete, Leroy Little Bear and James Youngblood Henderson) as well as Castellano,
Lynne Davis and Louise Lahache’s Aboriginal Education: Fulfilling the Promise in 2000 (which includes an article
by Sheila Watt-Cloutier).
6
These include the 2007 video, What I Learned in Class Today (made by UBC students about the First Nation’s
Studies classroom), which was directed by Karmen Crey and Amy Perreault; an article by Indigenous law professor
John Borrows; a book edited by Devon Mihesuah and Cavender Wilson in 2004 called Indigenizing the Academy:
Transforming Scholarship and Empowering Communities (which includes articles by Daniel Heath Justice and
Joshua Mihesuah); an article by Les Findlay about “Indigenizing” postsecondary classrooms; a 2008 article which
discusses the use of humour in an Ojibway language course by Helen Roy and Mindy Morgan; and a 2002 article by
Leanne Simpson that examines Indigenous environmental education.

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Additionally, at various points throughout the paper, I draw on cultural theory,
predominantly written by non-Aboriginal scholars on Aboriginal cultures and other minority
cultures in North America. The work of Blyth 2008, Hoy 2001, and McIntosh 2002, helped me
to interrogate whiteness and find my place as a non-Aboriginal researcher in relation to this
research project. Also, for the purpose of examining white privilege in the specific context of
Regina, Saskatchewan, where I was born and raised, I draw on Sherene Razack’s book Race,
Space, and the Law: Unmapping a White Settler Society (2002). Finally, I draw on Saul’s book A
Fair Country: Telling Truths about Canada (2008) and his lecture on multiculturalism at the
University of British Columbia in 2009. While some of Saul’s ideas about the Aboriginal roots
of the nation have problematic interpretations—such as points in his work that tend to treat
colonialism as a preordained process—I find much of his argument relevant to this discussion.
Particularly, his notion that Canadians predominantly do not understand the influence that
Aboriginal culture has had on Canadian culture and identity, since the early settlement of our
nation. I use his work to discuss ways that Aboriginal culture might be better understood by non-
Aboriginal Canadians, specifically through a consideration of Aboriginal pedagogy and its use of
humour. I argue throughout that this pedagogy has a valuable place in Canadian postsecondary
institutions. Furthermore, I argue that Aboriginal pedagogy can enhance cross-cultural learning
environments and develop respectful relationships between teachers and students.

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Methodology
I will begin by offering definitions of two key terms, which will serve as the basis for my
theoretical approach. These terms are pedagogy and humour. For both terms, meaning is
culturally determined and stems from specific philosophies and worldviews. It is therefore
necessary to consider both Euro-Canadian and Aboriginal perspectives.7
Pedagogy, in both
cases, is about how cultural information is passed down from one generation to the next; it
connotes the specific methods used for the transmission of knowledge. Interestingly, the term
pedagogy comes from the Greek, paid meaning “boy” and agōgós meaning “leading.” Literally,
pedagogy means, “to lead the boy” (encyclopedia.com). Paidagōgós translates as “the slave who
took a boy to and from school.” Already, from its beginnings, the idea of pedagogy delineates
power relationships.
The relationship between pedagogy and power is one examined extensively by scholars of
critical pedagogy. Brazilian educator Paulo Freire introduced critical pedagogy in his influential
book, Pedagogy of the Oppressed (first published in Portuguese in 1968 and translated into
English in 1970). In this book, Freire challenges classist assumptions about the roots of
knowledge and asserts that critical pedagogy should be “the practice of freedom.” Monica
McLean emphasizes that a central feature of critical pedagogy is a desire for social justice (1).
Critical pedagogy suggests that teaching and learning are inherently political acts, and as
teachers and learners we must remain critical of our practice to contribute to the struggle for
social justice. This requires reflection, maintaining flexibility and humility, which go hand in
hand with the functions of humour, particularly self-deprecation (see pg 37) and teasing (see pg
7
Of course, it should be noted that I am limited in my understanding of the Aboriginal meaning since I do not read
or speak any Indigenous languages. I will therefore base my definition on theoretical material written by Aboriginal
people in English. In addition, I will use English translations of Indigenous languages, where available.

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41). In addition, the notion of critical pedagogy is relevant to this discussion as this paper seeks
to challenge educators to consider Aboriginal ways of teaching and learning.
At the Learned Societies Conference in Montreal in 1993, a Cree grandmother offered a
definition of education. Translated into English it reads: “We teach what we know as an act of
love” (Hodgson-Smith 157). As this example shows, this notion of pedagogy differs greatly from
Western notions of pedagogy. For the purposes of this paper, I consider pedagogy to be teaching
methods that are dependent upon cultural factors that are adaptive. Additionally, I use the term
comic pedagogy to refer to the use of humour as a teaching method. I have borrowed this term
from Elaine Decker who argues that a comic pedagogy celebrates complexity, challenges
rationality and rigid categories, and advocates openness to new possibilities (“Making Sense”
124). As she puts it “teachers can face the folly of the world and potentially change it with and
for their students if they harness their own comic spirit to the task, and build a comic pedagogy”
(125). I will be using comic pedagogy to refer to the conscious use of humour in the classroom as
a teaching method.
A working definition of humour can be that which we find amusing, including that which
makes us smile or laugh: joking, teasing, self-deprecation, incongruity, satire, irony, horseplay,
wordplay and buffoonery. While I am unable to do an etymology of humour in any Aboriginal
languages, there is strong evidence in the English translation of stories from oral history to
suggest that laughter, joking, teasing, playfulness and a sense of amusement about life have
always been a part of Aboriginal cultures. On the subject of Aboriginal humour, Allan Ryan
writes:
Transcending geographical boundaries and tribal distinctions, it is most often
characterized by frequent teasing, outrageous punning, constant wordplay,

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surprising association, extreme subtlety, layered and serious reference, and
considerable compassion (xxi).
Ryan’s characterization is relevant to this argument as it points out two key qualities of
Aboriginal humour: that it maintains the capacity to reach across cultural boundaries and that it is
compassionate. As illustrated in Fish Out of Water, transcending cultural boundaries and
maintaining a sense of compassion toward others are key ingredients for productive cross-
cultural learning. Exploring the use of humour in the cross-cultural setting of Fish Out of Water,
this paper suggests possible implications for the cross-cultural setting of the postcolonial
university classroom.
Methodologically, I am committed to the use of anti-colonial research practices, such as
those put forward by Denzin, Lincoln and Smith (2008), which emphasize the importance of
research with clear and direct benefits for Aboriginal communities. This paper contributes to a
growing body of academic work that is challenging universities to be more reflective of
Aboriginal histories, cultures, epistemologies and pedagogies. The change is of course gradual
but it is also palpable and the benefit of such change is at least twofold: having Aboriginal
cultures honoured within academia can potentially attract and retain more First Nations, Métis
and Inuit students, as well as addressing the knowledge gap that most Canadians have regarding
colonial history and Aboriginal contemporary culture. Following the work of several anti-
colonial scholars (Blyth, Hoy and McIntosh), I explain how and why I came to do this research
(see chapter 1, page 15). Furthermore, since my experiences as a student and teaching assistant
of Aboriginal issues in universities relate directly to my topic, I will be including my own
observations and those of my students, where appropriate.

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My overarching research question is: what role does humour play in the affirmation and
transmission of Indigenous cultural knowledge? In order to answer this question, I will be basing
my response on my analysis of Fish Out of Water and using the theory described in my literature
review to support my argument. My approach will involve pulling together different theories to
understand the themes of my work. Specifically, it will combine educational theory with humour
theory and philosophy, both from Indigenous and non-Indigenous perspectives. However, this
study will give primacy to Indigenous perspectives since I am trying to understand the
reclamation of these ways of knowing and teaching. I will employ such theory as it directly
applies to the argument in each chapter. In addition, I am motivated by my experience as a
Teaching Assistant8
and as an academic coach9
for first year Aboriginal students at Carleton.
Through this experience, I have witnessed some of the barriers to learning faced by university
students. This understanding compels me to interrogate teaching and learning practices within
these contexts. I approach this work with the ultimate hope of finding more conducive
approaches to Aboriginal studies, ones that both better meet the needs of students and more
closely align with Aboriginal ways of knowing, teaching and learning.
8
Specifically for a second-year course in Canadian Studies called Framing Contemporary Aboriginal Issues (Winter
2009).
9
This is through the Centre for Initiatives in Education (CIE) at Carleton University. The specific program that I
work for is the Aboriginal Enriched Support Program. As a coach, I work with students one-on-one to help them
build their academic skills.

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Chapter One
Situating Myself: Unlearning and Relearning History
Following the work of other white scholars doing anti-racist and anti-colonial work, in
this section I will situate myself in relation to my research. I will attempt to answer the question:
“What’s a white girl like me doing in a place like this?” (Blyth, 63). Helen Hoy and Molly Blyth,
both white women who study and teach Aboriginal literature, pose this question, reflecting on
their own social and cultural locations. In addition, Peggy McIntosh describes the invisible
privilege whiteness brings:
I have come to see white privilege as an invisible package of unearned assets which
I can count on cashing in each day, but about which I was “meant” to remain
oblivious. White privilege is like an invisible weightless knapsack of special
provisions, maps, passports, codebooks, visas, clothes, tools, and blank checks (98).
McIntosh describes these “unearned entitlements” that come with being born white and finds
that identifying and analyzing these entitlements helps her subvert systems of dominance in her
anti-racist work. I will build upon the work done by these scholars as I also struggle to subvert
systems of dominance in my work. Their work informs mine as I negotiate my roles as a white
student (and now teacher) of Indigenous issues. Like these scholars, I am on a journey of
unlearning what I was led to believe about myself and about Aboriginal people, challenging
both the naturalization of whiteness and the presumed inferiority of Nativeness. Along with
unlearning these lessons, I am now in the process of relearning different lessons from and about
Native people.
By virtue of the fact that my parents are middle-class and white, I was brought up on the
“right” side of the north-south divide in Regina, Saskatchewan. I grew up not knowing about the
Native people who lived on the other side of the tracks. For my childhood and adolescence, I was

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blissfully unaware of issues facing Aboriginal people in my community, my city and my country.
What little exposure I had to these issues came in the form of the dominant images that confirm
white superiority and Aboriginal inferiority. Whether my teacher was school or Hollywood, the
lesson was primarily the same: Indians were a beautiful people who lived a long time ago and
who have since “died off,” either through extinction or assimilation. I watched Dances with
Wolves and cried when John Dunbar rode off with his new wife (who also happened to be white),
leaving the Indians to their sad but inevitable fate. Of course, there were “real” Indians too.
Growing up in Regina, I saw Aboriginal people often, not in my neighbourhood or at my school,
but other places in the city. They were the homeless people downtown, drunk and begging for
money—shadows of the beautiful people depicted in Dances with Wolves.
Aboriginal history and contemporary culture were all but absent from my grade school
education. I only began learning about Indigenous people when I attended university. Realizing
this lack of knowledge spurred me to question why I was not taught this history earlier. I began
to question the stories, myths and images that are used to justify colonial violence in North
America, mythology that assumes Aboriginal inferiority and settler entitlement to the land. The
more I learned about this injustice, the angrier I got and the more I wanted to know. This
learning process involved unlearning the lessons taught by my culture about who Native people
were. Learning about the violence of colonization called into question my sense of belonging in
every space I entered. Through treaties negotiated by the colonizers in bad faith, I learned that
the south Saskatchewan land we occupied so self-righteously was overtaken by waves of settlers,
land that was originally inhabited by the Cree and Saulteaux and later by Métis people.
Successive assimilationist policies, initiated by the Canadian government and churches,
attempted to annihilate their unique languages and cultures. Compounding this great injustice,

Erin Strachan 18
history has been taught from a strictly Euro-centric perspective, often outright denying
Indigenous presence. Through the erasure of Indigenous history, generations of young people
have been denied access to the real history of this land. As I examine this history, and where it
has led us, I recognize that the comfort of my upbringing sits in stark contrast to the social
realities of my Aboriginal counterparts in Regina. This inequality is a great injustice and one that
many Canadians do not understand.
I have learned that non-Native ignorance perpetuates colonial attitudes and violence. For
example, in 1995, Alex Ternowetsky, along with his friend, Steven Kummerfield, picked up an
Aboriginal woman named Pamela George, drove her to a remote area outside of Regina, beat her
within an inch of her life and left her to die. Both boys were 19 years old at the time and
intoxicated. Ternowetsky and I were educated in the same system and even attended the same
high school. I am not claiming that the education system is responsible for his behavior, but it
was unable to counter the deep racism toward Aboriginal people he held that spurred him to
violence and murder. Ignorance fuels racism, and racism fuels violence. Ternowetsky and
Kummerfield got off on charges of manslaughter. Sherene Razack explains that George’s
“degenerate” status as a prostitute was a factor in the ruling:
Both the Crown and the defense maintained that the fact that Pamela George was a
prostitute was something to be considered in the case. The judge sparked a public
furor when he instructed the jury to bear this in mind in their deliberations. The
men were convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to six-and-a-half years in
prison, having already spent twenty months in prison. The objections of the Native
community and some members of the white community stemmed from their belief
that the crime was, at the very least, one of second degree murder and that the judge
acted improperly in directing the jury to a finding of manslaughter (125).
In addition, Razack stresses that the court attempted to provide a “colour-blind” legal approach
that assumes that “justice can only be achieved by treating all individuals as though they were
the same” (155). Conversely, Razack argues that colonial history should have been considered in

Erin Strachan 19
the case as it was a primary determinant. Without understanding this history, achieving justice is
impossible. As Razack puts it:
Pamela George stood abstracted from her history and remained for the court only an
Aboriginal woman working as a prostitute in a rough part of town. The two men,
Alex Ternowetsky and Steven Kummerfield, were also abstracted from their
histories. They were simply university athletes out on a spree one Easter weekend.
As abstractions, neither side could be seen in the colonial project in which each was
embedded (126).
Colonial context and history factor greatly in what we believe about ourselves and other people.
In addition, this context and history greatly influence the path we take and the way we treat one
another in our day-to-day lives. Ternowetsky and I grew up in the same city around the same
time. We both come from privileged white families and were raised with an inherent sense of
belonging; as Razack puts it, we felt “an unquestioned right to go anywhere and do anything”
(127). This incident had a strong emotional impact on me. Understanding this situation was part
of my introduction to colonialism and caused me to examine my own position and white
privilege. It also influenced my decision to study Aboriginal issues. This process, one of
unlearning histories, of both a national and personal nature, has required unsettling this sense of
belonging and entitlement. This journey has led me to pursue a master’s degree in Aboriginal
issues at Carleton University. For this degree I have researched Aboriginal pedagogical practices,
which, in spite of colonial violence, retain a remarkable sense of humour.

Erin Strachan 20
Chapter Two
History/Context: The Continuity of Aboriginal Pedagogy
To understand Indigenous pedagogy and its contemporary application, it is first necessary
to understand its historical context. Descendents of the settlers are seldom adequately taught
about Aboriginal history, colonization or contemporary culture. This general lack of context has
led to, and continues to cause, significant cross-cultural misunderstanding in Canada. For
example, without understanding the intergenerational impact of the residential school system,
one cannot fully understand the barriers to education faced by Aboriginal students in 2010.
Without such knowledge, it is easy to assume that the students drop out, fail, or do not participate
as a result of individual inadequacies, rather than because of specific historic and systemic
disadvantages that they are facing. This lack of understanding also results in Canadians being
largely unprepared to enter a productive and meaningful conversation with First Nations, Métis
and Inuit peoples. This section will consider some philosophies that underpin traditional
Indigenous pedagogical approaches and discuss the continuity of this pedagogy, including the
key teaching and learning strategies of observation, learning from the land, hands-on learning
and storytelling. I will then discuss the rupture to Indigenous pedagogy caused by residential
schooling. It is necessary to understand this part of our shared history in the current struggle to
revalue Indigenous Knowledge for the benefit of all Canadians.
Philosophies of Education
It is well beyond the scope of this paper, and my knowledge as a researcher, to completely
explain the values that underpin Indigenous pedagogical philosophy. However, there are several
key values that merit consideration, particularly for the non-Aboriginal reader. My main

Erin Strachan 21
contention is that Aboriginal worldviews and approaches to education are fundamentally
different from Euro-Canadian ones and, as I will argue later, equally valid to the project of
improving the Canadian education system (see chapter 4, pg 53). For this purpose I will outline
the central philosophies of interconnection, interdependence and noninterference that underlie
Indigenous pedagogical practices.
These stem from the belief that all beings are interconnected and depend on each other for
survival. In this teaching model, all beings benefit from interconnection and they also bear
responsibilities to all other beings in the web of life. Leroy Little Bear explains how his
Aboriginal worldview differs from a Euro-Canadian one:
The languages of Aboriginal people allow for the transcendence of boundaries. For
example, the categorization process in many Aboriginal languages does not make
use of the dichotomies either/or, black/white, saint/sinner. There is no
animate/inanimate dichotomy. Everything is more or less animate. Consequently,
Aboriginal languages allow for talking to trees and rocks, an allowance not
accorded in English. If everything is animate, then everything has a spirit and
knowledge. If everything has spirit and knowledge, then all are like me. If all are
like me, then all are my relations (emphasis added, in Battiste 78).
The idea that everything has a spirit and knowledge—including plants, animals and people of all
ages—influences the way knowledge is transmitted. If a tree has knowledge, then there is
something to learn from it; it has something to teach us. In another example, Pueblo artist and
educator Gregory Cajete explains: “Everything can teach you something. Everything is alive,
related, and connected in the dynamic, interactive, and reciprocal relationships of nature” (in
Battiste 190). In this view, knowledge can come from anyone and anything.
Of course, if knowledge can come from a tree or rock, it can also come from a small child.
In fact, children are highly respected and considered autonomous members of society. For
example, in Sioux consensus-making governance, the opposition of even the smallest child can

Erin Strachan 22
prevent a decision from being made (Brokenleg, Van Bockern and Brendtro, “Raising Respectful
Kids” 5). This example demonstrates the autonomy granted children from a young age. Steven L.
Van Bockern, Larry K. Brendtro and Martin Brokenleg explain how traditional childrearing
philosophies are based on empowerment:
Native American philosophies of childcare represent what is perhaps one of the
most effective systems of child development. These approaches emerged from
cultures in which the central purpose of life was the education and empowerment of
children. They understood the importance of meeting the needs of belonging,
mastery, independence, and generosity (in Villa 61).
Children are raised in a nurturing environment where they learn to be independent and
interdependent members of society. Little Bear defines noninterference as “respect for others’
wholeness, totality, and knowledge” (in Battiste 79). In this model, it would be deeply
disrespectful to tell students what to think. This notion underlies pedagogical practices and
demonstrates great respect for individual students. Based on this respectful model, discipline is
achieved from within, rather than being imposed on an individual:
In contrast to obedience models of discipline, the goal was to build respect by
teaching inner discipline. Children were encouraged to make decisions, solve
problems, and show personal responsibility. In turn, adults shared stories, modeled
values, and provided guidance if children erred. In this environment, children
learned to make responsible choices without coercion (Brokenleg, Van Bockern and
Brendtro, 3).
Through learning inner discipline and responsibility, children become independent and learn to
make choices for themselves. In this enriching environment, children gain independence and
autonomy, preparing them to fulfill their individual roles in society as they mature.
Unlike in Western traditions, where humans are thought to have dominion over nature
and control over their environment, Aboriginal views hold that people are only a part of the
natural world where everything hangs in a delicate balance. This perspective instills humility:

Erin Strachan 23
The Aboriginal worldview teaches Aboriginal people to feel humble about their
existence. They are but one strand in the web of life. In the circle of which all life
forms are a part, humans are dependent upon all the other forces for their survival
(Youngblood 259).
This is what is meant by interdependence; each individual in the interconnected web is
dependent upon all the other individuals for survival. These interconnected relationships involve
both unique benefits and responsibilities, based on individual needs and roles. James (Sakej)
Youngblood Henderson further explains the unique responsibilities that each person has:
“Aboriginal worldviews also teach that humans exist to share life according to their abilities.
They exist to care for and renew the web of life, and therefore must respect and value all the
forces of life” (emphasis added, 259). The purpose of education in this model is to help learners
uncover their natural aptitudes and guide them to develop their abilities so they can contribute to
the interconnected web.
Before someone can begin to ‘share life according to their abilities’ they must first
discover what those unique abilities are. Cajete explains that to discover your role in society, you
must first discover your identity, natural skills and passions:
There is a shared body of understanding among many Indigenous peoples that
education is really about helping an individual find his or her face, which means
finding out who you are, where you come from, and your unique character. That
education should also help you to find your heart, which is that passionate sense of
self that motivates you and moves you along in life. In addition, education should
help you find a foundation on which you may most completely develop and express
both your heart and your face. That foundation is your vocation, the work that you
do, whether it be as an artist, lawyer, or teacher. This, then, is the intent of
Indigenous education. It is finding that special kind of work that most fully allows
you to express your true self—“Your heart and your face” (in Battiste183).
Finding both your “face” and your “heart” can help you find your vocation and take up your
responsibilities to the community. Along these same lines, Blackfoot Elder Clifford Crane Bear
explains, “you have got to think with your mind and your heart as one. Once you use both of

Erin Strachan 24
them, then you are a person” (Blackfoot Crossing). In this view, personhood requires the balance
between your intellect and your emotions. Education, in this model, is a journey for students to
uncover their unique abilities for the purpose of contributing to the web of creation. In so doing,
individuals can fulfill their purpose by caring for and renewing the web of life.
Humour as Pedagogical Tool
Within the practice of Aboriginal pedagogy, having a sense of humour can enhance the
learning, for teachers and students alike. Since Indigenous cultures have often lived directly off
the land, primary methods of learning survival skills are through observation and learning-by-
doing. Both of these methods are also suited to creating humourous learning environments
(Gross 2007, Kelly 2009). Lawrence Gross explains that through their keen ability to observe the
world around them, Anishnaabe are able to “discern and appreciate the inconsistencies and
incongruities of life” (2007, 81). According to Gross, discerning inconsistency and incongruity
primes the mental frame for appreciating and creating humour. Keen skills of observation are
important to both learning survival skills and to developing a sense of humour.
Likewise, learning from the land through hands-on learning methods can also foster a
sense of humour. Sheila Watt-Cloutier explains: “The land was our greatest teacher. Learning to
live on the land, overcoming the difficulties with intelligence, ingenuity, patience, courage, a
sense of humour, and cooperation is what taught our spirit and shaped who we were as a people”
(124). Learning to perform traditional skills, such as hunting, fishing, trapping and harvesting
medicinal plants requires trial and error. When someone is doing these activities for the first time
mistakes will undoubtedly occur. Laughter is often used to handle such mistakes. I will explore
this in the following chapter through my analysis of Fish Out of Water.

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In addition to experiential learning, traditional storytelling is also a primary teaching
method that involves humour. Little Bear explains the centrality of storytelling and the trickster
figure to teaching:
Storytelling is a very important part of the educational process. It is through stories
that customs and values are taught and shared. In most Aboriginal societies, there
are hundreds of stories of real-life experiences, spirits, creation, customs, and
values. For instance, most Aboriginal cultures have a trickster figure. The trickster
is about chaos, the unexpected, the “why” of creation, and the consequences of
unacceptable behaviour. These stories are usually told by the loving grandmas and
grandpas of the tribe (in Battiste 82).
Through telling stories about the past, the spirit world and the trickster, customs and values are
passed on to the next generation. Ryan points out that Trickster stories are often used to teach
listeners how to behave in acceptable ways:
In many Native societies Trickster narratives were, and to some extent still are,
used to teach culturally appropriate attitudes and behaviour…Recalling her own
childhood experience of listening to such stories, Lushootseed Salish oral historian
and professor Vi Hilbert says, “ While the stories were told to me in great
detail…the moral was never ever explained to me. I had to figure that out for
myself and I expect my students to do the same. It is my belief that most of our
story tellers followed this practice” (6).
As this example shows, lessons are not prescribed, rather, lessons require individual
interpretation and therefore might be different for each listener. This is a non-didactic approach
to teaching as students are not expressly told what to think but rather are encouraged to draw
their own conclusions. In this manner, teachers and storytellers respect the individual educational
journey of each student. Teachers do not impose lessons on the students but rather, students are
required to interpret the lessons based on their own experiences and ideas.
Humour is an important teaching strategy in trickster tales, as the trickster often behaves in
inappropriate ways. Audiences laugh at the trickster’s mistakes and through imagining his/her
negative example, learn about acceptable behaviour. Through these narratives, listeners learn the

Erin Strachan 26
consequences of unacceptable behaviour and the possibilities of transformation. Additionally, by
merely hearing the name of the trickster mentioned in a story, audiences are cued to anticipate
important information or a lesson:
Just as the mere mention of the Trickster by a narrator can trigger in an audience
“the expectation that this particular performance will cause important ideas to come
alive in exciting ways” (Toelken 1969, 225), so too does the presence of the
Trickster signal that some aspect of the story will require ironic interpretation (Ryan
9).
Audiences must interpret the story in their own individual way and this interpretation involves an
appreciation of irony. As I will explain in the next chapter, this sense of humour remains an
important part of Aboriginal pedagogy.
The Rupture to Aboriginal Pedagogy
For the most part, Euro-Canadian settlers misunderstood these ancient ways of teaching
and learning that I have been describing. Euro-Canadians were largely taught to believe that
Indians were savages, their cultures, languages and lifestyles backwards and their religions
satanic. The presumed inherent inferiority of Aboriginal cultures led to assimilationist policies
that were enacted to destroy these ways and absorb Indians into the body politic. As early as
1670, the British officials were drafting legislation based on ideas of Christianizing the natives,
which later became the process of “civilization” (Leslie et al. 2). Of course, an underlying
motivation for civilizing Indians was to gain full control over their lands; if there were no more
Indians then there would be no more question of Aboriginal title and treaties would no longer be
necessary. In 1876 the Indian Act was implemented, defining who could be called an Indian, and
controlling the lives of those identified. Relegated to small parcels of land, Indians were now
required to obtain passes to leave their reserves and were prevented from practicing their
traditional religion and ceremonies. In the wake of such legal restrictions, ceremonies, such as

Erin Strachan 27
the potlatch and Sundance were raided by police and sacred objects were confiscated and placed
in museums. However, arguably the greatest assault on Aboriginal culture was the creation of the
Indian residential school system, which forcibly removed children from their families and
institutionalized them. This was done for the central purpose of “killing the Indian in the child.”
According to David A. Nock, this notion of “killing the Indian” was first uttered in a speech by
Captain Richard Pratt, a school principal in Pennsylvania. As Pratt notoriously said “all the
Indian there is in the race should be dead. Kill the Indian in him, and save the man” (Nock 5).
Similar thinking informed late Victorian Indian Affairs policy in Canada. In 1920, Deputy
Superintendent-General of Indian Affairs, Duncan Campbell Scott, made it mandatory for all
Indian children between the ages of 7 and 15 years-of-age to attend residential schools (Leslie et
al. 116). Campbell Scott is often quoted for his summation of the assimilation policy. In 1920, in
a Special Committee of the House of Commons, he explained “Our object is to continue until
there is not a single Indian in Canada that has not been absorbed into the body politic and there is
no Indian question, and no Indian department” (Leslie et al. 115). Policies of assimilation were
based on the presumed superiority of Euro-Canadian ways of being. It was thought that the best
way to assimilate Indians was to remove children from the cultural influence of their families
and communities. This ideology gave rise to the residential school system.
Traditional educational methods were severely undercut by the residential schools.
Children were removed from the guidance of the Elders, forbidden from speaking their tribal
languages and practicing their culture and religions. This section will describe how colonization
caused a rupture in traditional teaching methods. Residential schools were in operation for over a
century: from 1861-1980 (Mussell 325). For Aboriginal people, this time period was
characterized by loss, specifically the loss of: language, experiential education through removal

Erin Strachan 28
from the land, independence, kinship connections, relationships, self-esteem, empowerment and
finally social modeling and parenting skills (Mussell 325).
Traditional teaching practices were completely undermined by the residential school
system as a result of the children being removed. Mussell explains the damages of this injustice:
The residential school experiences profoundly altered family units at the time and
continue to have serious intergenerational effects, touching every aspect of
community life today. These effects (violence and abuse, physical illnesses,
addictions, depression, and suicide) are only beginning to be understood as
symptoms of severe stress that compound the burden of earlier unresolved losses
connected with the loss of the land. Losing the land meant losing traditional
knowledge and cultural practices based on a lifestyle inextricably tied to the land
(325).
In terms of education, this loss was immeasurable for several reasons. Losing access to the land
meant losing an important teacher. In addition, as explained earlier, children were the central
purpose of life. So, through having their children taken away, families and communities lost the
central purpose of their lives. Beverley Jacobs describes what this loss of interconnectedness
meant:
In teaching the young, Elders and parents were responsible for teaching the
children their way of life. Children learned from watching their Elders. As a result
of children being taken away from their families and their communities, this
cultural and spiritual aspect of their lives was stolen from them (127).
Consequently, Indigenous people were no longer able to pass down cultural values and ways of
life to the children in their communities. This rupture in traditional ways of teaching and
transmitting culture created a gap between younger generations and older ones.
Removing children from their communities prevented them from becoming independent
and interdependent people at a young age. McKay describes the way his experience at residential
school stunted his sense of independence:
The residential school experience was for me an incarceration that limited my
development as an independent and interdependent person. While in the residence, I

Erin Strachan 29
was told what to wear, what to eat, and how to stand. I was given an identification
number. In the classroom I was taught English and French. I was expected to
memorize dates from British history texts. Leaving the residential school was
traumatic because after years of being instructed I had very little confidence in my
ability to make decisions. I had been made compliant and, in many ways, I was
dependent like a young child. Back on the reserves, welfare was creating dependent
communities without options. Students were leaving residential schools with low
self-esteem and few prospects for successful reintegration into our communities,
and the communities themselves were disintegrating because of poverty and loss of
dignity (111).
As this example shows, the dignity of both students of residential schools and their communities
was severely compromised. Students returned home lacking confidence, independence and self-
esteem. Furthermore, the interdependent web of relations in their home communities had been
torn apart; each individual on the web was now unable to fulfill their unique responsibilities to
the whole.
Students suffered from disempowerment, self esteem degradation and loss of personal
and cultural identity from the residential school experience. Being taken away from their
traditions and cultures resulted in an identity crisis for individuals and communities. Mussell
describes this disempowerment:
As people who have not experienced empowerment by discovering who we are,
what we are, and who we belong to, through learning family and community history
as an everyday experience, we live with considerable uncertainty because we lack
what it takes to see, understand, and name our internal and external realities (331).
Survivors came home uncertain about themselves and their place in their communities. Brian
Rice and Anna Snyder explain how the residential school experience has led to negative
perceptions of the self:
A major impact of the loss of language, culture, and identity…has been internalized
colonization/self-hatred and sometimes mental illness in Aboriginal communities.
Through the residential school system, Aboriginal people began to believe and
internalize the myths and stereotypes used to justify their own domination. Many…
Survivors must deal not only with anger towards their non-Aboriginal caretakers but
with self-hatred (54).

Erin Strachan 30
As a result of the presumed worthlessness of their languages, cultures and traditions, many
survivors began to hate themselves, believing that they were indeed worthless. In some cases,
this has led to destructive behaviours, such as alcoholism, drug-abuse, aggression, domestic
abuse and suicide.
Through the removal of children from their families, important social modeling and
parenting skills were also undermined. Rice and Snyder explain the intergenerational effects that
were set in motion:
Overwhelming evidence suggests that Aboriginal adults suffered from the social
modeling they received as children in residential schools and the colonial education
forced upon them. Poor social modeling is often passed on to their children,
perpetuating the social ills that result from cognitive imperialism. Often, the price is
a fear and an internalized hate for anything that reminds them of their Aboriginal
identity (55).
Being removed from the influence and instruction of parents and Elders in their communities,
many residential school survivors lacked important parenting skills when they had children of
their own. To compound this situation, many children were physically and sexually abused
during their time in boarding schools. This set in motion cycles of abuse and, in some cases,
brought violence and sexual abuse to the families of survivors. This issue is discussed by Fred
Kelly (in Castellano, Archibald and DeGagné 30) and Martha Flaherty, who is an Inuit board
member of the Aboriginal Healing Foundation (in Castellano, Archibald and DeGagné 93).
Many survivors have discussed not knowing how to take care of their own children or being
afraid of hugging and touching them as a result of the abuse that they themselves suffered as
children. Part of the healing journey for these survivors has been learning how to love their
families again and how to show physical affection for their children.

Erin Strachan 31
Revaluation of Indigenous Knowledge and Pedagogy
Of course, the residential school system has had far-reaching consequences for
Indigenous families and communities. In June 2008, Stephen Harper, Prime Minister of Canada,
issued an apology to residential school survivors. While healing is underway and reparations are
being made, Canadians remain largely ignorant of residential schools (Saul, “Reconciliation”
319 and Harrison 152). In addition, Aboriginal students still face significant barriers to full
participation. Professor John Borrows explains some of these barriers Native students face in
Canadian universities:
I have witnessed the struggles some of these Aboriginal students experience.
Racism, cultural alienation, family tragedy, poor academic preparation, insensitive
teachers and unresponsive curricula conspire to rob many Aboriginal people of the
benefits education can bring. Furthermore, I know that many people who could be
participating are not, some out of choice, but most because of the colonial
pathologies that continue to resonate within our communities (146).
This underrepresentation of Native students in universities is at least in part due to the fact that
their worldviews and cultures are often not reflected in this learning environment. These barriers
to postsecondary education, combined with the legacy of residential schools described above,
prevent young Aboriginal students from participating fully in Canadian universities. Youngblood
Henderson explains how this Eurocentrism makes Indigenous students feel invisible:
In Canadian universities and colleges, academic curricula support Eurocentric
contexts. When most professors describe the “world,” they describe artificial
Eurocentric contexts and ignore Aboriginal worldviews, knowledge, and thought.
For most Aboriginal students, the realization of their invisibility is similar to
looking into a still lake and not seeing their images. They become alien in their own
eyes, unable to recognize themselves in the reflections and shadows of the world.
As their grandparents and parents were stripped of their wealth and dignity, this
realization strips Aboriginal students of their heritage and identity. It gives them an
awareness of their annihilation (59).
Looking into the materials and subjects they are studying and not seeing their own cultures
reflected contributes to Aboriginal students feeling like they do not belong in academic

Erin Strachan 32
environments. Additionally, students feel that their knowledge is not valued or relevant in these
contexts. As an example of this, I worked with a Cree student in her first year at Carleton. She
was taking a first year seminar course about Aboriginal peoples in Canada and had to do a
presentation about women in the fur trade. She was to present on a reading she did about the
roles of Native and non-Native women in the early years of contact in Canada. During our
conversation, she told me a story about how her family hunts beavers and how she and the other
women in her family are responsible for cleaning and preparing the hides for sale. She explained
that if people understood how much work it takes to clean and prepare the hides, they would not
object to paying a fair price for them. After she had finished telling me this story I asked if she
would discuss these real-life experiences in her presentation, considering the relevance of this
knowledge. A confused expression registered on her face. “You mean I can talk about that in my
presentation?” she asked. I told her that I thought it was perfectly relevant to the topic and would
make her presentation interesting. Realizing that the cultural knowledge she holds has relevance
within this academic context seemed to help her feel more confident about her ability as a
student. To use Youngblood Henderson’s metaphor, she looked into the lake and saw herself and
her experiences reflected there, making her visible and welcome in this environment. Working to
ensure that Indigenous Knowledge is included in all university subjects would give Aboriginal
students the opportunity to see their cultures reflected across academic disciplines and show that
this knowledge has value. This process of revaluation and inclusion contributes to returning
dignity to Indigenous cultures and making space for this cultural knowledge.
In this context, the challenge for Indigenous educators and their allies is to ensure that
education systems reflect Aboriginal knowledge and cultural worldviews. Mussell explains the
process of “indigenizing” post secondary educational institutions:

Erin Strachan 33
The goal is to improve the quality and relevance of education for Indigenous
learners by grounding it in cultural knowledge and traditions. Indigenous learners
are better equipped to provide leaderships in both Aboriginal and mainstream
communities if they obtain an education based on their own heritage, cultural
knowledge, and history…As educational opportunities build upon Indigenous
knowledge, ways of knowing, and values, promising practices increase and make a
positive difference in our lives. We empower ourselves to recognize exclusion,
isolation, and racism and to find voice, vision, and ways to create a positive future
(332-333).
Through this movement to ground education in Indigenous Knowledge, students are empowered
to stay in school and obtain an education. Furthermore, this revaluation has far-reaching benefits
for all Canadians. As Marie Battiste explains, Canadian education systems can be improved by
fostering a deeper understanding of Indigenous Knowledge:
Western education has much to gain by viewing the world through the eyes and
languages of Aboriginal peoples. The earth and its resources must be viewed
through the lens of tribal knowledge if we are to understand how to protect the
universe. Rituals and ceremonies that cleanse and heal, maintaining the balances,
must be respected and honoured…Today we are faced with how we are to survive
the global disasters created by our scientific ingenuity, as well as how we can
bridge knowledge gaps created by the diversity of people and thought. Aboriginal
languages and education can be the means to opening the paradigmatic doors of
contemporary public education. Creating a balance between two worldviews is the
great challenge facing modern educators (202).
Understanding the earth and its resources through an Indigenous perspective can certainly have a
positive impact on environmental studies and teach us new ways of understanding the land and
its resources. Indeed, as educators have pointed out, since learning from the land is central to
Indigenous ways of knowing, it is also an important part of the regeneration process.

Erin Strachan 34
Environmental education programs are being developed that base their understandings on
traditional Indigenous pedagogical practices.10
As Watt-Cloutier explains, this is best done
outdoors:
We can teach about [the environment] in the classroom, but we cannot acquire the
spirit. The only place this can be learned is on the land, and we must find ways to
ensure that all youth have the opportunity to rediscover that spirit so that they can
develop the wisdom and inner strength they will need to meet the challenges of our
rapidly changing world (124).
Leanne Simpson also emphasizes the importance of conducting environmental education on the
land:
Connecting to the land is critical if Indigenous ways of teaching and learning are
to be employed and programs are to be grounded in Indigenous educational
philosophies. “Being out on the land” is the place where Elders are often most
comfortable teaching and interacting with students. Since Indigenous knowledge
comes from the land, it is imperative that students are given the opportunity to
connect to the land in an emotional, spiritual, physical, and intellectual way (19).
As these examples show, much effort is being undertaken to revalue Indigenous Knowledge and
make space for it within Canadian education systems. Of course, much work remains to be done.
Indigenous people and communities are still suffering the intergenerational effects of residential
schools. Furthermore, Canadians overwhelmingly do not understand the colonial history of their
country. However, as this section has shown, efforts to revalue Indigenous Knowledge and
pedagogical practices are being undertaken, the goal of which is to reinstate these ancient ways
for the benefit of future generations.
10
For example, Trent University has developed an Indigenous Environmental Studies program. Since 2009-2010,
Trent has offered a B.A., a B.Sc., and a diploma in Indigenous Environmental Studies, which uses Indigenous
Knowledge systems to understand environmental issues. For more information see http://www.trentu.ca/ies/

Erin Strachan 35
Chapter Three
Laugh and Learn: Trickster Teachings in Fish Out of Water
“Travel, open up your mind to different things and then you may have a different perspective on
life. You’re going to go through a lot of mistakes but that’s where you begin to learn. And that
was the whole notion of Trickster” (Gerald McMaster, qtd. in Ryan 169).
As Aboriginal educators have indicated, there is a pressing need to reclaim traditional
pedagogical practices and revalue Indigenous traditions. The contemporary television series Fish
Out of Water, shown on the Aboriginal People’s Television Network (APTN), demonstrates this
reclamation process. The host of the show, Don Kelly, explains that the show exemplifies the
traditional way of teaching and learning:
[Fish Out of Water] really captures, in its essence, the way Aboriginal people teach
and learn. Often Aboriginal people, whether it’s…youth or older people, they learn
by doing. It’s not a matter of sitting someone down and talking to them for an hour,
then reiterating, taking them through it again and then…quizzing them about it. You
actually get out there and do it. A lot of times these skills were fundamental to
surviving and the only way to learn them was to do them…There’s a lot of laughing
in the learning because part of learning by doing means screwing up (New Sun
Conference 2009).
Through participating in—and showcasing—traditional Aboriginal teaching and learning
practices, the series contributes to the regeneration of Indigenous cultures. Each show unfolds
like a traditional trickster story. As in trickster stories, the show begins with the main character
embarking on a journey, both physically and educationally. In keeping with the traditional
trickster premise, audiences of Fish Out of Water can expect two things: that the story will be
entertaining and that it will teach them something. Kelly takes on the trickster or buffoon role,
representing Indigenous people who lack important cultural knowledge. Through watching Kelly
learn and laughing at his mistakes, audiences can also learn cultural survival skills. As Kelly

Erin Strachan 36
learns the traditional skills that have sustained Indigenous people, these traditions are revalued in
the public eye. This chapter will demonstrate that the humour in Fish Out of Water closes the
generation gap between Elders and youth, revalues and honors Indigenous traditions and
contributes to cultural preservation and continuity.
Much of the humour stems from the show’s premise: Kelly, an urban “office-bound”
Ojibway, travels to various First Nations to meet with and learn traditional skills from Elders and
cultural teachers. Kelly describes himself as a “concrete Indian” because his feet “have never left
the concrete.” As a stand-up comic, Kelly provides improvisational comedy, making fun of
himself and his lack of bush skills, while the Elders have fun teasing him and cracking jokes.
Award-winning playwright and humourist11
Ian Ferguson describes how he and his Aboriginal
friends and relatives use humour in day-to-day interaction:
The three of us started off trying to make each other laugh, not to mention the
other people in the house, and I have to say we came up with some good stuff.
It’s kind of like when musicians get together: they just can’t stop themselves
from pulling out their guitars and jamming. It’s the same with comedians. Get a
group of funny people together and they are just going to start improvising. We
can’t help it. We were born that way (in Taylor 127).
Fish Out of Water provides an example of comedians jamming. Kelly visited Carleton University
recently and spoke about the making of the show. He explained that when the camera crew
arrives the Elders often get really serious. They assume that because it is a show about culture,
they should be serious. Plus, for most of them, being filmed for TV is a new experience.
However, after seeing that everyone is joking around, they get a little twinkle in their eyes,
realizing “oh, we can have fun on this show!” They quickly realize that they can be themselves
(New Sun Conference). In this chapter I analyze several forms of humour showcased in Fish Out
11
Ferguson won the Stephen Leacock Memorial Medal for Humour in 2004 for his novel/autobiography Village of
Small Houses: A Memoir of Sorts. http://www.leacock.ca/WINNERS/win2004.html

Erin Strachan 37
of Water: namely, the incongruity of city-knowledge and bush-knowledge, self-deprecation,
teasing, a playful approach to life and work, humour’s role in building community, and finally
humour and teaching. For the sake of clarity, I will discuss them in that order.
Incongruity
Part of the humour in Fish Out of Water is the incongruity between city-knowledge and
bush-knowledge. As Kelly interacts with the Elders, it becomes apparent that he has spent most
of his life in a city. Usually, while he is learning about hunting, fishing or chopping down trees to
create bear or beaver traps it becomes obvious that he has never done any of these things before.
For example, in the episode “Goes Algonquin,” Elder Jacob Wawate teaches Kelly how to make
a beaver trap. When Kelly picks up the axe and begins chopping at a tree, his inexperience is
clear; he swings wildly, never hitting the same spot twice. While they are collecting wood, Kelly
is babbling on and on, telling Jacob endless beaver facts. This shows the disparity between city
knowledge and traditional knowledge. In cities, if we want to know more about beavers, we just
Google it, as Kelly tells Jacob he has done. By contrast, in the bush, you learn from the land and
from the Elders as Jacob has done. What is funny here is the incongruity of forms of knowledge.
The information that Kelly has found about beavers on Google does not help him trap one. It
becomes evident that Kelly would be lost in the bush without the guidance of traditional people
like Jacob.
Self-Deprecation
“To be able to laugh at oneself is one of the greatest gifts of an Aboriginal heritage” (Marie
Annharte Baker, 48).
Self-deprecation is a key ingredient of Aboriginal humour. As Thomas King explains,“We
are at our best when we laugh at ourselves” (in Taylor 181). Poking fun at yourself requires a

Erin Strachan 38
certain critical distance, which involves a new approach to making mistakes. Learning to see
mistakes as opportunities to share a laugh with others, we reduce feelings of frustration and
divert defensiveness. John Morreall explains the critical distance a humourous approach requires:
“To the extent that we can laugh about something we have achieved a measure of objectivity
about it, and this change of stance makes a big difference in the way we see things” (“Taking
Laughter Seriously” 107). Achieving a measure of objectivity about ourselves can change our
perceptions of ourselves and influence the way others see us. This is especially important when
we are meeting new people for the first time, when first impressions are established.
On the show, Kelly needs to quickly establish that he has a sense of humour about himself
for several reasons: to create a comic environment, to make his hosts feel comfortable, and to
invite them to tease him about his lack of knowledge and traditional skills. In this context, self-
deprecation fosters “joking relationships” between Kelly and the Elders in each show. Mahadev
Apte offers a definition of the anthropological term “joking relationship:”
The joking relationship [is] a patterned playful behavior that occurs between two
individuals who recognize special kinship or other types of social bonds between
them; it displays reciprocal or nonreciprocal verbal or action-based humor including
joking, teasing, banter, ridicule, insult, horseplay, and other similar manifestations,
usually in the presence of an audience (31).
This definition could be describing Fish Out of Water. Kelly and participants create social bonds
in a short amount of time and engage in reciprocal humour, often including joking, teasing,
banter and horseplay, for the benefit of a TV audience. Self-deprecation, on Kelly’s part, often
foregrounds this type of relationship by inviting the participants to engage in teasing, kidding and
banter with him, thereby demonstrating that he is game for this type of play. For example, when
Kelly visits the Mohawk Council of Kahnawake, he uses self-deprecation in his introduction to
the Mohawk people. Discussing the Oka Crisis—the notorious 1990 standoff in which the

Erin Strachan 39
Mercier Bridge was blocked by the Mohawk people—Kelly imagines what his role might have
been if he were there. Dressed in army gear, Kelly stages the standoff, and walks up to three
other people, who are dressed similarly. Kelly’s imagined role involves being a servant as he
takes the coffee orders of the warriors, offering to buy them doughnuts. After jotting down
everyone’s coffee order he says, “On second thought, maybe it is best that I wasn’t there.” Unlike
the stereotype of the macho Mohawk warrior, Kelly presents himself as weak and afraid of
confrontation. Introducing himself in this manner foregrounds his experience. Through self-
deprecation, Kelly invites the teasing he knows is coming to him, and shows his lack of
experience in confrontation. This initial self-deprecation influences his experience at
Kahnawake. Later he is taught to be a lacrosse goalie and to wrestle a ninth grader; throughout,
Kelly is forced to confront his fear of macho male behaviour.
Kelly also uses self-deprecation to show a flexible approach to making mistakes. For
example, when he visits the Navajo Village Heritage Center Lori Cummings teaches him how to
make fry bread. Kelly has two chances to make the bread, once when he is being instructed
directly by his teacher, and again during the final challenge when she is watching him. On his
first try, Kelly sticks both of his hands into the dough. Cummings corrects him, saying that he
should only use one hand. Later, during the final challenge, Kelly makes fry bread again. He
says, “look, I already have both hands in there!” Then, they both laugh about his mistake. Rather
than waiting for Cummings to point out this mistake, Kelly makes fun of himself first. As
learning by doing is an integral part of Aboriginal pedagogy, having a sense of humour about
oneself is important. It allows a flexible approach to making mistakes. By teasing himself first,
Kelly demonstrates that he recognizes his mistakes and that his ego has not gotten in the way of
his learning.

Erin Strachan 40
Of course, even with his flexible, comic approach to learning, there are times when Kelly
loses his cool. He described one such behind-the-scenes incident at the New Sun Conference,
when he showed us a clip in which he fell off a tall horse and landed directly on his back. Kelly
explained that the pain knocked the wind out of him and, for a brief moment, also winded his
sense of humour. He began yelling at his director and angrily exclaimed that he could have
broken his back. In spite of his initial unhappiness with this painful situation, Kelly spoke about
the way his director had used the clip of him falling off the horse in Fish Out of Water. Not only
did she include the clip, but she had repeated it nine times for comic effect. Understandably, in
the moment of extreme pain, Kelly did not find the incident funny. However, after recovering
from the pain and regaining some critical distance, he had found the humour in the situation and
was able to laugh about it.
The comic approach—including self deprecation and teasing—can be used to help us
gracefully overcome even the most painful events in life. Furthermore, developing this approach
can teach us to maintain critical distance from painful experiences, thereby minimizing the
damage and helping us find productive ways of dealing with it. In the context of teaching and
learning, self deprecation, on the part of teachers, can help break down barriers between teacher
and student. Self deprecation can also help us practice and demonstrate humility in learning. In
addition, adopting and fostering this approach can help students and teachers overcome mistakes.
Being able to maintain critical distance from oneself and one’s work has significant potential for
teaching and learning. I will return to this idea in the next chapter.

Erin Strachan 41
Teasing
Teasing is perhaps the most discussed characteristic of Aboriginal humour. Vine Deloria
describes how teasing has always been an important part of Indigenous social relationships:
For centuries before the White invasion, teasing was a method of control of social
situations by Indian people. Rather than embarrass members of the tribe publicly,
people used to tease individuals they considered out of step with the consensus of
tribal opinion. In this way egos were preserved and disputes within the tribe of a
personal nature were held to a minimum (147).
In the case of Fish Out of Water, it is not Kelly’s opinions that he is teased about but his
inexperience. As in Deloria’s description, humour functions as a social buffer, evading
embarrassment over the differing forms of knowledge. Kelly’s ego is preserved even when it is
clear that he lacks important survival knowledge. Of course, as I have described above, Kelly
also teases himself at every opportunity, admitting his ignorance by poking fun at his own
inexperience or lack of skill. It is critical to the show’s premise and success. This further invites
the Elders to join in the fun and have a laugh at Kelly’s expense.
As Drew Hayden Taylor explains, Native people love to make fun of themselves and each
other:
Native humour has two primary characteristics…First, [it] can be extremely self-
deprecatory. We love to make fun of ourselves as individuals or as a group.
Second, teasing is universal in rez country. Oftentimes you don’t know you’ve
been accepted until you’ve been teased (75).
Teasing on a group level can easily be seen in Fish Out of Water. For example, when in Dene
territory, Kelly is taught to build a traditional bear trap. As they locate and chop down various
branches for the trap, Kelly tells Elder Eugene Sylvester that the Ojibway have a strategy to only
look for logs in a three meter radius. The implication is that the Ojibway are lazier than the Dene.
Later, Eugene teases Kelly about this comment, telling him he needs to get away from “this
Ojibway-style trap-building thing.” Eugene also has fun teasing Kelly about his talkativeness. At

Erin Strachan 42
one point Eugene shouts, “Quit talking and GO!” Another example of teasing at a group level is
when Kelly is learning the card game Navajo Ten. Somehow, without even knowing the rules of
the game he is playing, Kelly manages to win a hand. One of his opponents says to the man who
just lost, “man, you just got Ojibwayed in your own territory” (Navajo). This is an example of
the intertribal teasing that Hayden Taylor describes above. Teasing himself and being teased by
others enhances the learning by helping everyone to have a good time while working together.
There are countless examples of teasing between student and teacher on Fish Out of
Water. Ratcliff-Brown describes teasing behaviour as “permitted disrespect,” in which
individuals are permitted to tease one another (Palmer 12). Kelly and participants can be seen
engaging in permitted disrespect with one another, in the context of teaching and learning
traditional skills. For example, after Kelly competes with a 5-year-old boy in a Prairie Chicken
Dance competition, one of the judges says, “Don, the little boy whipped you” (Blackfoot). In
another example, Kelly teases a fisherman who is teaching him how to hang fish on a rack. While
cutting and skewering fish onto sticks, the fisherman clenches a cigarette between his lips. Kelly
tells him, “you know, I always love a cooking show where the cook has a butt in his mouth”
(Dene). In yet another example, Kelly has just run up a hill holding water in his mouth, as
Apache runners have traditionally done as a fitness challenge. Kelly, breathless, spits the water
into a measuring cup held in his teacher’s hands. Exhausted, Kelly asks his teacher, “how did I
do?” His teacher responds, “well, you coulda ran faster” (Apache). These examples of teasing
show that Kelly is accepted in the communities that he visits, and that play and fun are valued in
Aboriginal teaching and learning practices.
At the same time, teasing can easily lead to misunderstanding in a cross-cultural context.
This is especially true if it is the first time someone has been teased in this way. As Delaware

Erin Strachan 43
writer Daniel David Moses explains, he prepares his non-Aboriginal friends for being teased
before they visit his reserve of Six Nations:
The first few times I take new friends home to the reserve I have to prepare them,
because a large part of how we function is [through] teasing each other. If they’re
not prepared they’re going to feel under attack. The function of teasing, it seems to
me, is to help characterize you as an individual. It points out maybe a weakness or
maybe just something that’s interesting about you. To me, it means they’ve
recognized who you are. A lot of people from mainstream society are used to being
under attack. It takes a bit of moving around in their head to figure out what’s going
on, to be comfortable with it. It can be very funny but it’s meant as a gesture of
recognition (qtd. in Ryan 89).
As this example shows, explaining the teasing to outsiders can help them realize that it is not
meant in a mean way, but rather indicates that others are interested in getting to know them.
Without this information, the teasing could easily be misinterpreted as ridicule by cultural
outsiders and could negatively impact their impressions. For example, a Cree professor at the
First Nations University of Canada (in Regina) who teaches Native literature has told me that
students often misunderstand his teasing in the classroom. At one point a student complained to
the dean that the professor was teasing the students and it was embarrassing (personal
communication).This demonstrates the importance of offering a warning to the students.
Foregrounding these cross-cultural interactions with information about how Aboriginal teasing
works might help students learn the benefits of this type of play.
If teasing is properly explained to non-Aboriginal students beforehand there is significant
potential in using it for teaching and learning about Aboriginal cultures. Through understanding
that teasing often indicates acceptance or affection, offense can be minimized and teasing can
fulfill its indigenous cultural purposes: creating multi-directional and multi-dimensional
relationships between groups and individuals. The potential for pedagogy here is in forming
trusting and playful relationships between professors and students. Furthermore, teasing can

Erin Strachan 44
work against power imbalances which are inherent to the academic classroom. Through
learning about and engaging in teasing, we can potentially learn to relinquish our egos, and
thereby minimize significant barriers to teacher-student communication. Additionally, teasing
in the learning environment, as demonstrated by Fish Out of Water, can promote humility in
both teachers and students alike.
Playful Approach to Life
Fish Out of Water also demonstrates the comic worldview or playful approach to life.
Edwards defines play as,
a voluntary and distinct activity carried out within arbitrary boundaries in space
and time, separate from daily roles, concerns, and influences and having no
seriousness, purpose, meaning, or goals for the actor beyond those emerging
within the boundaries and context of the play act itself (qtd. in Apte 87).
However, in the Aboriginal context, I would argue that play is not completely separate from
daily roles but, rather, it is infused into these daily roles and all aspects of life (“Redskins,
Tricksters and Puppy Stew”). Additionally, it is debatable as to whether there are goals, purpose
or meaning for the actor, beyond the play act itself. Having fun while doing serious activities
could be construed as a goal in itself. Moreover, a person can easily have a playful approach to
life and never stop to reflect upon its intellectual purpose or meaning. It just happens to be the
way they see the world around them and their activities within it. Susan Stephenson and Paul
Thibault describe the benefits of a playful disposition:
Playfulness may be the most important component in determining and maintaining
a sense of humor. Play is the expression of childlike qualities of inventiveness,
curiosity, and excitement. It describes not what you do, but how you approach what
you do…Some of us never lose the capacity to play; others learn to suppress this
vital ability as they grow older. Lighthearted play is often discouraged or forbidden
in schools and workplaces for fear that the atmosphere will lack the serious tone
needed to learn or be productive…In reality, play brings out our human qualities
and helps us to collaborate and create. Many people find they can innovate and

Erin Strachan 45
solve complex problems better while they are having fun. Sometimes taking a
moment to laugh clears the mind and makes the next steps in a task seem easier.
When a group or class can play and work at the same time, they develop a deeper
sense of trust and form a stronger team. These are key aspects of a healthy learning
community (22-23).
As Stephenson and Thibault suggest, the ability to play has an important role in collaborating,
creating, and problem solving, as well as in building trust through teamwork. As demonstrated in
Fish Out of Water, play can be an integral component of Aboriginal pedagogy.
Furthermore, this comic approach to life is not something that we are born with; we learn
how to play as children and this is either encouraged or discouraged as we grow into adults.
Decker explains that the more we are encouraged to play, the easier this ability comes to us:
The more students play, the more they can play. The more they play, the more they
trust that their imaginations are a valuable source of both data and energy to bring
to a new task. The more they play, the more they realize the contingent nature of
what they know, however, they realize it without fear. They come to trust that when
they let go of their certainty about ideas and experiences, they are not letting go of
their confidence that they can explore new ideas and experiences; that is, they come
to be intrigued about learning something new! (“Q. What’s Funny” 9)
As Decker notes, an increased ability to play can influence imagination, self-esteem, energy and
curiosity in students. Exploring new things from this playful approach is clearly evidenced in
Fish Out of Water. For example, in many episodes, Kelly plays traditional games of chance,
often competing with children and adults for fun. When he goes to Wanaskewin, Saskatchewan,
Kelly learns the traditional game of Double-Ball. His guide Lorne Gardypie explains that sticks
are used to toss around the Double-Ball, which is made from certain parts of the buffalo:
“remember how I said every part of the buffalo was used? Well, you don’t have to be very smart
to figure out which part this comes from…” (Wanaskewin). As people toss around sewn-together
buffalo testicles, Gardypie explains that there is no real way to win the game; the game was
invented, quite simply, because it’s fun—and funny—to toss around testicles. The game of

Erin Strachan 46
Double-Ball shows that the culture that invented it has a healthy sense of humour and a playful
approach to life.
The ability to play requires an understanding of context. Elliott Oring explains that play
requires knowledge about a specific context:
Play is expressive. It is auto- and allo-communicative. What play communicates
requires a consideration of context. These contexts include the experiences that an
individual brings to the humor that he or she hears and performs; the social
interaction in which humorous performances are embedded; the social and
historical conditions under which jokes arise, proliferate, and disappear; the
cultural knowledge upon which humor depends and with which it plays (145).
Much of the humour found in Fish Out of Water is context-specific; often what we are laughing
at is the fact that Kelly is completely out of his element, where his systems of knowledge are
inadequate. Everyone in the show brings their own systems of knowledge, which they
incorporate into the humour. They express their unique knowledge through improvising and
playing with the other people in the scene. Part of what makes the show funny is that not all
Indigenous people have the same knowledge. However, what is also made clear in the show is
that they like sharing their diverse knowledge with one another, and humour is inevitably part of
that sharing. In the final portion of each show Kelly has to do a practical test to show his teachers
that he has indeed learned something; this portion is called the Final Challenge. For example,
when Kelly is working with the Dene Elder, Eugene Sylvester, they have an archery contest.
They set up a scoreboard that is comprised of two little plastic Indians, which will be moved four
squares to the finish line during the competition. Eugene and Kelly take turns firing arrows at
balloons. Eugene, a skilled hunter, hits the balloon every time. Kelly misses every time. The man
keeping score says, “Don, no pressure, but you have zero.” It is clear that the Elders are not the
only funny ones in the community; people of all ages enjoy playing and having a good time.
Furthermore, even the more serious-seeming and slow-to-warm Elders reveal that they also have

Erin Strachan 47
a funny side. David Bosum, from Oujebougoumou Cree Nation, is one such Elder who takes a
long time to reveal his playful side. As he feels more comfortable with being filmed, he asks
Kelly while they are chopping wood, “so what kind of fish are you anyway? Whitefish, tuna?”
(Oujebougoumou). This playful approach to life and work is an important part of Indigenous
humour. Through laughing and playing together, trusting relationships are established. Again,
having fun while learning is an important component of Aboriginal pedagogy.
The potential for play to build group solidarity and trust has implications in the cross-
cultural classroom. From my experience as both a student and as a teaching assistant for a class
called Framing Contemporary Aboriginal Issues (2008), I have observed and experienced the
barriers to cross-cultural education. Generally, most Canadians, let alone non-Canadians, that
come to Aboriginal issues classes in university have little-to-no previous knowledge about the
subject. In this environment, there is often a great deal of uncertainty among both students and
teachers. Many are uncertain of how to approach topics or whether or not to speak in class. They
may be afraid that if they speak up they will say the wrong thing and cause offense by crossing
some tenuous, and often unseen, political boundaries. For first time non-Aboriginal learners, who
have a lot of unlearning to do, this can be analogous to tiptoeing through a minefield. Alternately,
for Aboriginal learners, there might be great frustration, annoyance or sadness caused by the
overwhelming ignorance of their classmates. As noted earlier, this situation can lead to feelings
of invisibility or insignificance (Youngblood). In this tense environment, play has significant
potential. Play has been shown to decrease resistance to new ideas, strengthen social bonds and
encourage risk-taking. Learning to play together, perhaps initially on more neutral ground, has
the potential to help us overcome the significant barriers that we face to navigating the tense
political ground of our shared colonial history. As I illustrate in this essay, using humour as a

Erin Strachan 48
conscious approach to teaching and learning need not trivialize the subject matter. In fact, play,
laughter and humour can potentially help us build a more solid foundation for cross-cultural
understanding.
Community Building
The humour found in Fish Out of Water also builds a sense of Indigenous community
that extends beyond tribal boundaries. Apte explains that engaging in joking relationships can
reinforce cultural solidarity: “Joking relationships…manifest a consciousness of group identity
and group solidarity” (66). As we can see in the show, the humour appeals to its presumed pan-
Indigenous audience. Thus Fish Out of Water contributes to a revaluation of Aboriginal
knowledge, across diverse nations, while also demonstrating the distinctiveness of individual
Indigenous nations. Oring discusses the relationship between humour and community:
Humor implies a community; a fellowship of laughers with whom the humor is
shared. Although humor may educate, it is not a formal means of instruction. It is
not the means by which people are persuaded to adopt particular
views….Humour…implies the presence of those with similar ideas and kindred
values (56).
Certainly, even though Kelly was raised in cities, he still shares a similar sense of humour with
the Elders he encounters. As he is introduced to people in various nations across North America,
bridges are created between the urban-rural, young-old and city-bush forms of knowledge. Kelly
describes the way the producer pitched her idea for the show to him:
We go to Aboriginal communities. We learn the skills that have sustained them,
that they’re still doing and we learn some of the teachings and get a feel for the
skills…I want someone [to host the show] that the people who know the skills can
get a kick out of watching. They’ll learn a bit about the different cultures because
we’re going to go all over the country to all the different Aboriginal peoples in
Canada…The people who don’t know how to do it, they’ll be learning with you.
They can see how you master or don’t master the skills (New Sun Conference).

Erin Strachan 49
As this shows, from its inception, Fish Out of Water has worked to build and expand Indigenous
community. For one thing, the show is broadcast on APTN, which is watched by Aboriginal
people all across the country. This provides the opportunity for people from one area of Canada
to learn from other tribal Elders that they might never have the chance to meet in real life. It also
promotes the cultural camps that Kelly and his crew visit, increasing awareness about these
centres so that audiences might travel there themselves. Furthermore, it bridges the gap between
people who were raised in cities and those who were raised in remote locations, mediating the
shared identity between these diverse upbringings. The urban people can learn that it is possible
for the environment to sustain human life, provided the humans are equipped with the right
knowledge and methods for finding food, building shelters and harvesting medicines. Through its
humorous presentation of skills, Fish Out of Water bridges the gap between urban and rural,
young and old, distinct tribal groups and even between Aboriginal peoples and non-Native
audiences.
The project of bridging groups of people and teaching Indigenous cultures is facilitated
by the existence of the Aboriginal People’s Television Network (APTN). Created in 1999, APTN
is a valuable forum for sharing media created from a distinctly Aboriginal perspective:
This negotiation for new cultural spaces highlights the continuous change of
cultures, accelerated by globalization and mass-mediated consumption patterns.
Here, the local response to mainstream media is the creation of alternative media
from an indigenous perspective, which as new generations of filmmakers emerge
changes to reveal mainstream foci and global perspectives. APTN is a unique
network that combines alternative programming and mainstream broadcasting
styles in a blend that does not exist anywhere else (Baltruschat).
By featuring artists of all kinds along with on-air personalities, APTN contributes to cultural
rebuilding. Furthermore, Aboriginal hosts, artists and personalities from across the country
offer young viewers much-needed role models. Programs such as Fish Out of Water publicly

Erin Strachan's Research Paper 2009

Erin Strachan's Research Paper 2009

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