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November 3, 1991
Enclosed for your information is a commentary on the use of language by
John Goddard. If a greater number of popular Canadian writers worked as
hard at communicating the true and essential nature of these things --
rather than simply repeating the words and phrases so carefully chosen by
professional "spin artists" to deliberately deceive and/or obfuscate --
both the issues and solutions would be far more readily available.
Canadians would likely also soon replace the thereby exposed Mulroney
Government.
* * * * *
The Montreal Gazette, Saturday, October 26, 1991
SPEAKING OF LANGUAGE
WORDS WE USE BETRAY UNCONSCIOUS BIASES
John Goddard
As a reporter in the Northwest Territories years ago, I was careful not to
write the word Indian. I would write of native and indigenous and
aboriginal peoples, but I considered the term Indian somehow pejorative.
If the Inuit were asking not to be called Eskimos, why perpetuate another
misnomer? The only problem was that there seemed to be no other general
term for a non-Inuit native.
After working for three years on a book about the Lubicon Cree of northern
Alberta, I've learned that there are more important distinctions to worry
about. At council meetings and annual assemblies, I've heard Indian people
refer to themselves unabashedly as Indians. Attitude is all. People
uncomfortable with Jewishness tend to say "the Jewish people" instead of
"the Jews". And people frightened of disabilities are beginning to say
"physical challenges." My uneasiness with Indian, I've come to realize,
had something to do with feeling awkward around people whose culture and
way of life I couldn't immediately understand or appreciate. Using a
polite term like "aboriginal people" seemed a way to display a respect I
didn't at first feel. I now use Indian freely.
During the course of writing the book, other terms I had never questioned
presented themselves for scrutiny. One of the first was "land claims."
The constitution provides that "existing aboriginal and treaty rights...are
hereby recognized and affirmed." In a strict dictionary sense, a legal
claim and a legal right can be synonymous, but the word "claim" conveys a
subtle spuriousness. In the same way that "Bourassa claimed today" casts
doubt on the veracity of what the premier said, the term "land claim" tends
to challenge the legitimacy of an Indian group's position, serving vested
interests.
Indian Affairs people almost always say "land claims". Occasionally they
say "land entitlements." Virtually never do they say "land rights", but I
came to realize that the Lubicon case was about rights. The nature and
extent of those rights were up for discussion, but not even the government
questioned whether the band had outstanding land rights.
Once distinctions between rights and claims are clear, reporters need never
repeat the offense committed in Montreal throughout the summer of 1990,
when a confrontation was said to be taking place "on land the Mohawks claim
as theirs". Occasionally, a reporter would say "disputed land" on second
reference, but nobody ever said "on land the Oka municipality claims as
theirs," signalling a bias about which most reporters seemed unaware.
Sometimes efforts to report neutrally can be awkward. I once wrote that
certain bands "didn't end up with" as much reserve land as they were
entitled to under treaty. Indian Affairs people often say they are
"giving" native people reserve land, a verb derived from the colonial idea
that the Crown acquires territory, then gives a reserve and other benefits
in exchange. Indian groups see themselves as "retaining" part of their
territory as a reserve, while giving up the rest in exchange for certain
benefits. Struggling for compromise, I settled on "didn't end up with".
One term I still wrestle with is "nation".
In the fall of 1988, the Lubicon people pulled out of the Canadian courts
in frustration and declared themselves a sovereign nation, with dominion
over thousands of square kilometres of unceded Lubicon territory. They
enacted their own laws and regulations, and insisted that the hundreds of
oil workers in the territory abide by them. Rather than do so, the workers
left, precipitating a six-day confrontation with provincial authorities.
Conceptually, the stand was helpful to a public unfamiliar with the issues.
Asserting nationhood got the message across that the Lubicon people had
never signed a treaty and that in significant ways the land had never
belonged to Canada. I asked myself whether I should drop further
references to "Lubicon band" and substitute "Lubicon nation".
The word "nation" can have different connotations for different people,
however, and so far I've been skirting the issue. I write about the
Lubicon people, the Lubicon community and the Lubicon society. I am
careful not to write the word "nation" the way I once avoided "Indian" but
motivated this time by a search for clarity, not mere politeness.