Active History https://activehistory.ca History Matters Fri, 03 Apr 2026 00:03:43 +0000 en-CA hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 https://i0.wp.com/activehistory.ca/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/cropped-ActiveHist2019_icon_whiteBCKG-6.jpg?fit=32%2C32&ssl=1 Active History https://activehistory.ca 32 32 Active History false Active History podcast Active History http://activehistory.ca/wp-content/plugins/powerpress/rss_default.jpg https://activehistory.ca 42146343 Cultivating a Conscientious Citation Practice https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/04/03/cultivating-a-conscientious-citation-practice/ https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/04/03/cultivating-a-conscientious-citation-practice/#respond Fri, 03 Apr 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://activehistory.ca/?p=75238 Read more »]]> This week marks the 10th anniversary of Unwritten Histories, a project created by Andrea Eidinger that has shaped how many of us think about the past—how it’s written, shared, and understood.

In the coming weeks, the site will be taken offline. The material won’t be lost: Andrea is in the process of building a Pressbook to house the content, and the website itself has been archived.

To mark the occasion, we’ll be revisiting some of the most memorable posts from Unwritten Histories—the ones that challenged assumptions, opened up new conversations, and continue to resonate.

May 7, 2019

neon sign in different colours, spelling need, dream, human, desire, hope.

I absolutely love citations. There is something beautiful about a perfectly formatted bibliography that just makes my heart sing. But aside from their aesthetic value, citations have tremendous transformative potential when it comes to academia, education, and the sharing of knowledge. So, in today’s blog post, I want to talk about why this is the case, and how you can maximize the potential of citations in your classroom.

This blog post was inspired by a recent Facebook post by the talented and lovely Joanna L. Pearce, which I will include below. While I was writing this blog post, I also happened to mention my plan to Krista McCracken, who was already planning to do a podcast episode on the same subject (in case you needed more evidence that our minds are psychically synced). So while I will be talking about citations in terms of education today, Krista will be speaking about citations and research; definitely make sure you check out that podcast episode.

The Power and Politics of Citations

When most of us think about citations in the classroom, we think about student papers and plagiarism.

Many of us teach students that is important to cite your sources because it is important to acknowledge the work of others. And some of us emphasize the importance of citational styles as a means for communication information about our sources (what type, where they are located, etc…). And usually that’s about it. We rarely stop to think about how we use citations and source in classrooms, and what this communicates to our students.

That’s because, as critical feminist and anti-racist scholars have demonstrated, citations have power. As many other have noticed, the foundational text on citational practices and power is Sara Ahmed’s blog post, “Making Feminist Points.” In it, she describes citations a “as a rather successful reproductive technology, a way of reproducing the world around certain bodies.” To put this another way, citation is a political practice that academic disciplines used to establish and uphold legitimacy and authority. Regardless of field, this authority tends to attach itself overwhelming to white, male scholars.

One of the most important sites for the creation of this legitimacy and authority are course syllabuses. When we design syllabuses, we often begin with foundational texts and scholars, who again, are almost always white men. For example, a recent survey of syllabuses from 2018 in the department of Political Science at McGill university found that out of the 300 authors listed, 86% where white and 75% were male. While there haven’t been any comprehensive studies on citational practices and syllabuses in the field of Canadian history, there are still worrying signs. I would again point to Elise Chenier, Lori Chambers, and Anne Frances Toews’s piece, “Still Working in the Shadow of Men? An Analysis of Sex Distribution in Publications and Prizes in Canadian History,” which shows conclusively that there is a bias against women and women/gender/feminist history in both publications and prizes. When we consider that many comps lists are drawn directly from CHA prize lists, and that these lists are instrumental in the development of syllabuses, we can see how inequality is reproduced within our own field.

Some people argue that certain authors and texts are classics from the field, and should continue to be cited. However, these individuals rarely stop to consider why this is the case. As Victor Ray notes, “what counts as canonical is shaped by who had access to existing knowledge and the tools and the institutional resources to produce new knowledge.” What’s more, these individuals also fail to consider that canon is neither natural nor inevitable, but the result of conscious decisions by academics.

And these decisions have wide-ranging implications for both our students and the wider world. Syllabuses that are overwhelming dominated by white and male scholars sends a message about which individuals we see as authoritative, whose voices we centre, and whose expertise is recognized. This contributes to the ongoing racial and gendered bias against scholars and experts who are not white or male. What’s more, these practices alienate students who don’t fit into these categories, and makes them feel as if their experiences and voices have no place in academia. And finally, when we continue to cite these same sources over and over again, we reinforce these texts and authors as part of our “canon,” and therefore reproduce and institutionalize inequality within the academy.

There are more wide-ranging implications for scholars as well. Citational practices, including those on syllabuses, have real-life impacts on the career trajectories of scholars. Frequency of citation is often used to measure relevance and importance, and therefore is often considered for hiring, promotion, tenure, and other performance evaluations. For example, many scholars, even in the humanities and social sciences, are judged on the basis of how frequently they are cited, something which is now called an h-index. Increasingly journal articles are posting metrics on individual journal issues and articles about citation frequency. So when we continue to cite the same canonical authors and texts over and over again, we again contribute to the ongoing dominance of white male scholars in our fields, invest them with more authority, and silence the voices of academics from marginalized groups.

Conscientious Citations in The Classroom

However, just as citational practices have the potential to reinforce power structures, they also have tremendous potential to undo them. In their article, “Citation matters: mobilizing the politics of citation toward a practice of ‘conscientious engagement,’” Carrie Mott and Daniel Cockayne argue for that they call “conscientious engagement” with citations, being mindful of their impact. This conscientious engagement, or what I’m calling conscientious citational practices, require us to make careful and mindful choices about whose voices we choose to highlight and promote. This doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t cite important scholars in our fields if they happen to be white or male. Rather, conscientious citational practices encourage us to cite people because they have good ideas, rather than because they have status. It encourages us to think carefully about traditional academic hierarchies and work to cultivate a more diverse and inclusive discipline. Finally, I would refer back to the blog post Krista and I wrote earlier in the year on the celebration of women and non-binary academics. I won’t repeat myself too much here, but I would like to refer to Ann Friedman and Aminatou Sow’s practice, “Shine Theory,” or the practice of celebrating each other’s work as a way of uplifting us all. Conscientious citations or a critical citation practice operates in much the same way.

When we bring conscientious citational practices in the classroom, we also help to create more diverse and inclusive classrooms. We can show all students that their voices matter, and that diversity is a strength rather than a bonus. Conscientious citational  practices can foster the creation of safer and braver spaces. They can also provide opportunities for your students to learn about, and respect, multiple perspectives and different backgrounds.  As Sasha Turner noted, quoting Sadiah Qureshi, “what if in addition to requiring students read white (predominantly male) theorists—canonized as universal truth tellers—like “Tacitus, Herodotus, Max Weber, Karl Marx, Michel Foucault, Antonio Gramsci, Jacques Derrida and, more rarely, Judith Butler,” we also require that students critically engage the works of “Audre Lorde, Stuart Hall, Frantz Fanon, Jasbir Puar, Sara Ahmed, Kim TallBear or Kimberlé Crenshaw?”” We can even dream bigger. In her podcast episode on the subject of citational politics, Hannah McGregor asks: what would happen if our fields were entirely reorientated? What if we didn’t just talk about scholars from marginalized groups in relation to white, male scholars, but rather centred their voices in our work? What would this look like?

What’s more, conscientious citational practices the classroom can extend far beyond the syllabus. For example, what would happen if we considered all of our classroom documents and activities as scholarly work, and cited our sources?   As Julie Glass explains in a piece entitled “Modeling Scholarly Practice Using Your Syllabus, “doing so demonstrates to students that teaching IS scholarly, provides them with examples of how to use citations, and models scholarly practice starting with the very first day of class.” When we practice deliberate and intentional citations in all aspects of our teaching work, we acknowledge and teach students that the production of knowledge is a conversation and that scholarship is fundamentally about relationships, and that it is important to give credit where credit is due.

Conscientious citational practices in the classroom also allow us to disrupt hierarchical structures beyond the classroom. I am thinking here specifically of the work being done by the Cite Black Women Collective, who work to “reconfigure the politics of knowledge production by engaging in a radical praxis of citation that acknowledges and honours Black women’s transnational intellectual production.”  For example, in the same podcast episode, McGregor mentions a conversation she had with Jessica Marie Johnson about journalists stealing ideas from her tweets and consistently fail to credit her as a co-author. This reflects the fact that Black women are still not treated and credited as experts.  But when we practice conscientious citational practices in a broad and comprehensive manner, we have the power to change this.

What You Can Do to Cultivate a Conscientious Citational Practice

Here is the Facebook post by the brilliant Joanna L. Pearce that I mentioned above, on creating a classroom culture that acknowledges the work done by others, that originally inspired this blog post. It is reproduced here with her permission.

The very first thing I start doing with students immediately in tutorial is every time I refer to something a student said, or refer to something specifically said in lecture, I will verbally “cite” it by saying “As Chris said earlier, ‘blah blah blah’.” I’m trying to create a culture within the classroom where we acknowledge each other’s contributions BY NAME. (So I won’t let them get away with “As he said” with gesturing at someone.)

After a few weeks of this, I specifically point out to students that I’m doing it. I want them to notice that we’re acknowledging each other’s contributions to the class discussion (BY NAME) as part of thinking about how knowledge and understanding builds on what we’re all doing. Let’s make it very clear to them how this works in the classroom, so it’s easier to get them to do it in the essay writing.

I also make a point of using citations on my ppt slides (if I use ppt slides in tutorial or lecture) and including a “Bibliography” on my ppt slides. This is again trying to create the understanding that I’m using other sources to build my lecture/tutorial material. (This also helps get away from “cite the lecture” in essays or on exams – I provided my sources! If you want to use them, use them!)

As the term progresses, I start looking at the secondary sources we’re using in class. Let’s look together at WHERE the author is citing things. I try to use examples that are similar to how I want students to cite in class. I get where folks are coming from when using bad examples, but I like to use good ones instead. I have students look at citations and both see where/when something is cited, and then look at the citation itself and see what information is included.

Other Things You Can Do:

  1. When you are lecturing, talk about the research that specific scholars are doing. This one comes from my husband, who has been doing this for years. For instance, when he lectures on a specific topic, he names specific scholars who have contributed to the field, and explains their arguments. This helps student to understand that knowledge is not created in a vacuum.
  2. Instead of using classic textbooks, assign journal articles and chapters from monographs and edited collections instead. Not only are these pieces (often) more interesting to read (and more likely to get read!), but they can expose your students to a range of perspectives and voices. If you need some information on where to start, these are some fantastic resources:
  3. Along the same lines: fully integrate research by scholars from marginalized groups into your syllabus and your lectures.
  4. Check out Eve Tuck (Unangax), K. Wayne Yang, and Rubén Gaztambide-Fernández’s Citational Practices Challenge.
  5. See if your syllabus and/or publications pass the Gray Test, developed by Wendy Laura Belcherand named after Kishonna Gray (who invited the hashtag #citeherwork). To pass the test, a syllabus or article 1) must cite the scholarship of at least two women and two non-white people and 2) must discuss these works in the body of the text. (And thanks to Raul Pachego-Vega for letting me know about this awesome test!)
    1. You can also ask that students ensure that their sources and/or essays pass the Gray test as well!
  6. Cite downwards. A.K.A. Cite new and upcoming scholars, especially if they are precarious academics.
  7. Teach your students about the importance of footnotes and endnotes.
    1. I personally love Roxanne Panchasi’ piece, “Cite Specific: Analyzing Endnotes to Teach Historical Methods”and the Xtreme Endnotes exercise, and have used it many times. Panchasi printed copies of notes for her students, I do them digitally.
    2. I’ve also used the apocryphal Van Halen’s Brown M&M explanation to explain to students why fine details like properly formatted citations are important. They are the canaries in the coal mine. (Ok, I will stop with the metaphors now).
  8. As an assignment, ask your students to go out and find articles on a specific topic written by scholars from a marginalized group.
  9. Include a “works cited” page in your syllabus, documenting the articles about teaching and learning that have influenced your approach to education.
  10. When you cite authors in your syllabus, use their full names.
    1. Ensuring that you use full names in your citations means that in the event that your material ends up online, it will show up when someone searches for the scholar’s name. Tina Adcock is the person who noticed that this was a good way for scholars to demonstrate scholarly impact in the preparation of dossiers for hiring and promotion.
  11. Learn about and practice Indigenous citation styles. I like Elements of Indigenous Style: A Guide for Writing By and About Indigenous Peoples, by Gregory Youngin ( who sadly passed away last week).
  12. Talk about what you and others can do to change an academic culture that silences the voices of folks from marginalized groups.
  13. Instead of asking your students to submit a bibliography, have them submit a bibliographic essay. I really liked would encourage you and then to read the bibliographical essay “Citational Relations,” in Daniel Heath Justice’s Why Indigenous Literatures Matter.  Here is what he says:

Citations and broader references have been included as a bibliographic essay to allow for easier reading of the main body, with last names of those authors cited directly highlighted in bold. I also wanted the bibliography not to be merely a list of sources, but a conversation about the embraided influences of words, ideas, and voices on the topics at hand. No scholar comes to these ideas and this work without being part of a much broader community, and I’ve been very blessed to have been deeply transformed by the good work of others. This essay, of course, can’t possibly address every person and every work that has impacted this volume, but these are, I hope, a good sample of the works that made my book possible. [3]

One final quick note: McGregory also mentions the challenge that the ephemeral and transient nature of these platforms presents with respect to citational practices. While we can be exposed to a wide variety of ideas, without a careful citational practice, it can be difficult to track down, and give credit to, these sources later on. This is an increasingly common problem on public platforms like Twitter, Facebook, and blogs, particularly for folks who are Black, Indigenous, and non-Black People of Colour.

I hope you enjoyed this week’s blog post! If you did, please consider sharing it on the social media platform of your choice. And don’t forget to check back on Sunday for a brand new Canadian history roundup! See you then!

]]> https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/04/03/cultivating-a-conscientious-citation-practice/feed/ 0 75238 Imagining a Better Future: An Introduction to Teaching and Learning about Settler Colonialism in Canada https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/04/02/imagining-a-better-future-an-introduction-to-teaching-and-learning-about-settler-colonialism-in-canada/ https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/04/02/imagining-a-better-future-an-introduction-to-teaching-and-learning-about-settler-colonialism-in-canada/#respond Thu, 02 Apr 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://activehistory.ca/?p=75235 Read more »]]> This week marks the 10th anniversary of Unwritten Histories, a project created by Andrea Eidinger that has shaped how many of us think about the past—how it’s written, shared, and understood.

In the coming weeks, the site will be taken offline. The material won’t be lost: Andrea is in the process of building a Pressbook to house the content, and the website itself has been archived.

To mark the occasion, we’ll be revisiting some of the most memorable posts from Unwritten Histories—the ones that challenged assumptions, opened up new conversations, and continue to resonate.

February 20, 2018

Co-authored with Sarah York-Bertram

Note from Andrea: Sarah York-Bertram has been setting social media on fire with her wonderful Twitter essays on this subject. So of course I had to dragoon  ask her if she would be willing to co-author this post with me! And she is so kind that she said yes! Thank you, Sarah!

This is an image of Lake Louise in the winter. In the foreground is a view-finder, looking across the lake towards the mountains.

“If you come here to help me, you’re wasting your time. If you come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.” – Lilla Watson

We wish to acknowledge that this blog post would not have been possible without the work of Indigenous scholars, many of whom are listed below, who have been researching and writing in this field for decades. We are deeply indebted to them for their generosity and patience. 

Like so many others, both Sarah and Andrea have been appalled, angered, and outraged by the Stanley decision, as well as the way in which so many people are in denial about anti-Indigenous racism in this country.  While we are heartened to see all of the great discussions online, we are alarmed to see that many individuals do not know or understand how settler colonialism has shaped the history and present of this place we now call Canada. As settlers, scholars, and historians, we believe that it is our responsibility to help rectify this situation. We also believe that we need to keep these conversations going, beyond the Stanley decision, and that they should be an integral part of the teaching and learning of history in this country. Further, we believe that it is important that we continually and actively fight against racism in all its forms. Anti-racism is an active approach to unpacking, accounting for, and dismantling systemic racism. It’s not about simply abstaining from being racist, it’s about doing what’s necessary to build an equitable, de-colonial culture and society that all humans can thrive in. What follows are guidelines, resources, and frequently asked questions that are informed by anti-racist and decolonial approaches to teaching about settler colonialism in Canada. This blog post is targeted specifically towards educators who want to increase their knowledge of the subject as well as integrate it into their teaching practice. However, it is our hope that this guide will also be of use to any individual who is interested in helping to imagine a better future for us all.

A Quick Word on the Meaning of the Term “Settler”

A lot of people in Canada take offence to being called “settlers” even though the term is not derogatory. Being a settler means that you are non-Indigenous and that you or your ancestors came and settled in a land that had been inhabited by Indigenous people (think: Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, etc.). However, it is important to recognize that while the term is not derogatory, it can often be very difficult to hear. Many people, particularly when first learning about the subject of settler colonialism, have strong and negative reactions to it. Andrea recalls yelling at the person who first called her a settler (thankfully Emma forgave me!), and Sarah recalls feeling like the rug had been ripped out from under her.  Most of us like to think that we are good people, and being told that we’re complicit in a colonial project can be emotionally wrenching. So we would like to encourage those who are interested in learning about this subject to make space for their feelings, recognizing them without judgement, and, whenever possible, to extend the same consideration to others. This is not to suggest that racist behaviour is acceptable under any circumstances, but, rather, that each person is on their own journey. We embrace the philosophy of love as political resistance whenever possible. However, part of this radical love is being open to learning and growing, even when it is painful. 

What is Settler Colonialism?

Simply put, settler colonialism is a term that is used to describe the history and ongoing processes/structures whereby one group of people (settlers) are brought in to replace an existing Indigenous population, usually as part of imperial projects. Settler colonialism can be distinguished from other forms of colonialism by the following characteristics:

  1. Settlers intend to permanently occupy, and assert their sovereignty, over Indigenous lands.
  2. This invasion is structural rather than a single event, designed to ensure the elimination of Indigenous populations and control of their lands through the imposition of a new governmental/legal system.
  3. The goal of settler colonialism is to eliminate colonial difference by eliminating Indigenous peoples, thereby establishing settler right to Indigenous lands.

Though often assumed to be a historical process, settler colonialism as a project is always partial, unfinished, and in-progress. Examples include Canada, the United States, Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa.

Colonization, settlement, and the creation of nation-states like the ones mentioned above depend upon particular historical narratives that reinforce or justify settler occupation of Indigenous lands. These narratives seek to reinforce the idea that these lands “belong” to settlers and that settlers “belong” on this land.  Therefore, the rewriting of history is a key part of settler colonialism. This often rests on an artificial temporal division that divides a location’s history into two distinct periods: before and after settlement. Central to the “before” time is the idea that the lands in question were either empty or not being used (referred to as the Doctrine of Discovery/Terra Nullius (literally, empty lands). {1}

{1} Chelsea Vowel, Indigenous Writes: A Guide to First Nations, Métis, and Inuit Issues in Canada (Newburyport: Portage and Main Press, 2017), chapter 26 and Henry Yu, “A Provocation: Anti-Asian Exclusion and the Making and Unmaking of White Supremacy in Canada,” in Dominions of Race: Rethinking Canada’s International History, eds. Laura Madokoro, Francine McKenzie, and David Meren, (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2017), 25-37.

A (Brief) History of Settler Colonialism in Canada

Most of us are familiar with the traditional narrative. Once upon a time, North America was basically empty of humans. Then some people came across the Bering Land Bridge, and started moving across the continent. We call these people Native Americans. Some of them practiced agriculture, while others were hunter-gatherers. But then, European explorers arrived and “discovered” the New World. The colonists who came were intrepid adventurers, determined to make a new life for themselves through hard work and perseverance. There will often be some mention of Louis Riel after this point. But afterwards, while there are some variations depending on where went to school, Native peoples essentially vanish from the narrative. Aside from a short discussion of Louis Riel, Native peoples essentially vanish from the narrative.

While there are myriad problems with this narrative, the most important part is that it is not accurate. This is the kind of history that results when only sources from settlers are used, and these sources are not interrogated regarding their intentions.

So what really happened? Here’s what we know:

Indigenous peoples have lived on Turtle Island (A.K.A. what settlers call North America) since time immemorial (more on this later). The continent was highly populated, the people culturally & ethnically diverse. It was a diplomatically complex space inhabited by a wide range of Indigenous peoples who had systems of law, trade, and governance. These societies were as complex and sophisticated as other societies at the time.

After contact, the French & British began to send settlers to what is now Canada in order to benefit from its resources. Britain and France had differing approaches to Indigenous relations but when Britain eventually took over in 1763, British law began to develop different categories that reflected their understanding of race. Through the Indian Act, the crown divided inhabitants of Canada into two categories: Indigenous people and non-Indigenous settlers. While Turtle Island prior to contact was as complex and sophisticated as Europe at the time, the Indian Act negated Indigenous diversity and reduced the people of Turtle Island to the category of “Indian.” By the same mechanism, all non-Indigenous people who came to Canada for economic benefit were settlers.

Some, though not all, Indigenous groups signed Treaties which constituted agreements that Indigenous and non-Indigenous settlers would share the resources of the lands in good faith, that non-Indigenous settlers wouldn’t take more than what they needed, and that the relationships would be respectful. However, this isn’t what happened. Even after making many agreements the crown actively and violently broke its agreements with Indigenous leadership in order to achieve racial  and economic dominance, and to assimilate Indigenous people into British/settler culture.

Expert Tip: A legacy of Canada’s settler colonial history is the ways Canadians continue to pay the royal family money. According to Business Insider, Canada paid the family $20.86 million in 2015, for example. And we’re just ONE of the commonwealth nations who gives them money.

The category “settler” was legally solidified in Canada through the construction of legal binaries developed by the Indian Act. That is, not only does being a settler describe a particular history of migration and economic relationship; in Canada, it’s also an effect of the law.

General Guidelines When Learning about Settler Colonialism

1. Do not act out of guilt, but rather out of a genuine interest in challenging the larger oppressive power structures;
2. Understand that they are secondary to the Indigenous people that they are working with and that they seek to serve. They and their needs must take a back seat;
– Lynn Gehl, “My Ally Bill of Responsibilities.”

Andrea and Sarah have both been learning  and teaching about settler colonialism for several years. The following recommendations are based on our own experiences and a lot of trial and error. We do not wish to present ourselves as experts in this area, nor are these guidelines to be taken as authoritative.

  • Accept that you will make mistakes and upset people as you learn.
  • Accept that you will be corrected by those more knowledgeable than you. Be gracious, thank your corrector, and apply the correction.
  • Do not waste time feeling guilty. This is inherently selfish, and does no good. Act instead.
  • Do not burden Indigenous peoples with your feelings. Do not go to them seeking guidance or validation. It is not their job to educate you or make you feel better. Be considerate of the fact that they already carry a heavy burden of emotional labour. Do not add to it.
  • Self-educate. Where do you live? Are you on unceded land? Are you on Treaty land? If you’re on Treaty land, that makes you part of the Treaty. Learn what your responsibilities are. If you’re on unceded land, look into why it is unceded, what that means, and how you can act in solidarity with Indigenous people in your area.
  • Learn the terminology and use it. Don’t be afraid to practice in regular conversation.
  • When writing about Indigenous peoples, comply with the following guidelines from the Journalists for Human Rights’ Indigenous Style Guide.
    • Whenever possible, always be specific about the group, people, community, or nation you are referring to.
    • Defer to the community or individual(s)’ preferences on being identified.
    • Otherwise, use the correct Indigenous terms for groups, communities, and nations ( or example, Kanien’kehá:ka rather than Mohawk).
    • Avoid saying things like:
      • Canada’s Indigenous Peoples
      • Indigenous Canadians
      • Native Canadians
    • In general, include an Indigenous person’s nation or community in their name. For example, Frank Calder (Nisga’a) rather than just Frank Calder.
  •  Learn how to properly pronounce Indigenous words and phrases (Youtube can be very helpful for this).

Guidelines and Recommendations for Teaching about Settler Colonialism

The same caveats apply here.

  • Allow your Indigenous students to opt-out. Not only are they constantly bombarded with this information on a regular basis, but they do not need to be put in a position of teaching their peers about their historic and continued oppression. Keep in mind also that many subjects that are discussed in history classes have personal meaning for many Indigenous students, so it’s a good idea to give them a head’s up about when you will be discussing these topics (like residential schools or the Numbered Treaties), and give them permission to miss class if they want.
  • Avoid turning class discussions into “both sides” debates (especially role-playing court cases). These debates tend to alienate Indigenous students and re-perpetuate the impacts of settler colonialism.
    • Some good discussion ground rules that are frequently used in similar contexts include:
      • 1. Listen actively — respect others when they are talking.
      • 2. Speak from your own experience instead of generalizing (“I” instead of “they,” “we,” and “you”).
      • 3. Do not be afraid to respectfully challenge one another by asking questions, but refrain from personal attacks — focus on ideas.
      • 4. Participate to the fullest of your ability — community growth depends on the inclusion of every individual voice.
      • 5. The goal is not to agree — it is to gain a deeper understanding. {2}
  • It often helps to include some kind of warning at the beginning of the lecture, particularly if you come from a marginalized group. For instance here is the one that Andrea uses:
    • You are free to disagree with my comments in this lecture.
    • This lecture is informed by the common consensus among Canadian historians with respect to the history of colonialism in Canada
    • Particularly since the publication of the TRC findings, scholars and the general public alike have been tasked with decolonization.
  • Anticipate that, for some students, this topic will be emotionally difficult. Make space for all of the feelings, good and bad. Provide emotional aftercare (special office hours for people who want to talk, etc…)
  • Ground your discussion in the place you live in or teach in. This will help make the topic much more immediate and relevant to your students.
  • Once students have an understanding of what settler colonialism is, have them consider the way it continues in the present.
  • Take care of yourself. Understand that a lot of emotional labour goes into facilitating these necessary and sometimes difficult discussions.

{2} These guidelines appear in numerous forms across the internet. We have reproduced them here, but would like to be clear that we did not come up with them. For more information, please go here.

Student FAQs and How to Answer Them

These are some of the most common questions we’ve received on this subject from students.

  • Didn’t we win the war/conquer Indigenous peoples?

No, “we” didn’t.  There was no single moment or battle that has shaped the course of Indigenous and settler relationships in this place that we call Canada. Keep in mind that contact and colonialism occurred over the course of more than five centuries, with some Inuit communities not contacted by settlers until the 1920s. It’s impossible to generalize across such vast distances and times. It would be more accurate to say that starting in the late 18th century, the British (and later Canadian) governments embarked on a mission to assimilate and eliminate Indigenous peoples by whatever means necessary, be it forcible enfranchisement, starvation, or genocide. While these efforts have been devastating on Indigenous peoples, the process has always been partial and incomplete. Indigenous peoples have always fought against and resisted these pressures, and continue to do so to this day.

  • Didn’t the British/Canadian government purchase this land from Indigenous peoples?

Nope. Again, it’s impossible to generalize in this case due to the the vast geographic and temporal ranges. When individuals talk  about “purchasing land,” they are often referring to the treaty process. But this is a fundamental misunderstanding of what the treaty process actually involved.  The first thing to keep in mind is that settlers and Indigenous peoples have two different attitudes regarding the meaning of treaties. Settlers believed that land can be owned, and subdivided into parcels. They did not recognize that Indigenous peoples held title to the land, but in order to prevent any problems down the road, they wanted Indigenous peoples to surrender any claims to the land in return for gifts or annual payments. Indigenous peoples believe that no one can own the land, because it is divinely created. In their eyes, treaties confirmed that they held the land, as stewards for future generations. They sought to secure and protect land for the future, while allowing some settlers to live alongside them. Thus treaties were intended as pacts of friendship, peace, and mutual support, not the abandonment of their rights and interests.

For example, in Eastern Canada, Indigenous peoples and settlers (first the French, then the British) signed several agreements outlining how they could share the land. One of the most famous of these agreements is the Two Row Wampum, which visually depicts two boats going down a stream side by side, never intersecting. One boat represents Indigenous peoples, while the other represents settlers. Each group governed themselves, and shared the land on the basis of friendship and respect.

The situation is more complex elsewhere in Canada. Much of Ontario, the Prairies, parts of Northern Canada, as well as much of Vancouver Island, are now covered by treaties signed between Indigenous communities and settler governments throughout the nineteenth and early 20th centuries (Nunavut being an exception). Many Indigenous communities were forced into signing these treaties in order to receive assistance and protection, since their way of life was being systematically destroyed by the Canadian government. What’s more, while Indigenous peoples entered into these agreements in good faith, representatives from the Canadian government did not. They routinely broke promises that they made, since their main objective was to open these lands for more settlers.

It is important to remember as well that many parts of Canada, including most of BC, are not covered by treaties or land sharing agreements. Settlers living in these areas are, by their own laws, illegal squatters. However, many Indigenous communities and the provincial and federal governments are in the process of negotiating treaties to cover these areas.

  • Can’t Indigenous peoples just make stuff up in their oral histories to get what they want?

The short answer is no. This is an attitude based both on a fundamental misunderstanding of Indigenous oral tradition, as well as how primary sources work. First of all, most Indigenous communities in this place we now call Canada record their histories orally. In some communities, certain individuals will be tasked with remembering these histories, and ensuring that they are passed on accurately to future generations. These are not stories that are told for entertainment purposes, but rather to record and transmit important information that is vital for the continued survival of Indigenous communities. The idea that someone would just “make something up to get what they want” is a violation of this sacred trust.

What’s more, as archaeologists, historians, and other scholars have begun working with Indigenous peoples, particularly with elders and knowledge keepers, they’ve discovered that Indigenous oral traditions line up exactly with both historical accounts as well as scientific evidence of past environmental events. There are numerous examples, with the Franklin Expedition being only one of the most recent.  

Second, some individuals believe that written texts are inherently more “trustworthy” than oral histories. But this is not correct. The information that a person records is shaped not only by their worldview, but also the message they are trying to send, who the intended recipients are, and a whole host of other factors. For instance, if you were writing a report to your boss, you usually want to depict events in a flattering light. But this might not actually reflect reality.

  •  Aren’t we all immigrants, including Indigenous peoples?

No. Indigenous oral tradition records that Indigenous peoples have been here since time immemorial. What this means is that Indigenous peoples have always lived in North America, or for so long that the exact number of years is irrelevant. While there are settlers alive today whose ancestors came to North America five hundred years ago, this isn’t really comparable to the fact that Indigenous peoples have lived, worked, and died on this continent for tens of thousands of years.

Many people who bring up this question also talk about the Bering Land Straight theory. There is currently no historical or scientific consensus on how or when Indigenous peoples came to North America (although we are definitely sure that Europeans didn’t arrive first). As many scholars have noted, the debate on “when” Indigenous peoples came, as well as announcements of new “discoveries” about ancient archaeological sites are inherently problematic because they privilege scientific information over Indigenous ways of knowing. As one scholar put it, “‘we’ve always been here’ [should be] good enough.”

  • What is the relationship of other oppressed racialized people to settler colonialism? For example, what about Chinese people who were targeted by discriminatory and racist laws?

Strictly speaking, all peoples who are not Indigenous, fall under the category of “settler.” But the reality is a lot more complicated.

In Canada, it is English speaking white people who hold institutional power. That means that those of us who are white and English speaking benefit from racism and are protected from feeling its effects.

Black peoples and people of colour don’t hold the institutional power that whiteness confers to white people. The ancestors of many of these individuals came to Canada against their will, (such as as African slaves); as a result, their relationship to Indigenous people in Canada is different than what we’re describing here. Others came to Canada as refugees, fleeing oppression in their homelands. Each of these peoples have their own distinct histories and relationships with Indigenous peoples, and, further, “settler colonialism and antiblackness [are] entwined historical and contemporary social structures.” Some scholars in this area argue that Black peoples and people of colour should still be considered settlers, because they do benefit from settler colonialism (albeit not to the same extent as white settlers). However, other scholars argue that this designation ignores the complicated histories of Black peoples and people of colour and the fact that settler societies like Canada are deeply racist, and unfairly assigns blame to people who did not come to North America by choice.

However, as two white women, we are neither qualified nor in a position to make a judgement call here.

Do More: Decolonizing Your Syllabus

Talking about settler colonialism is a good place to start. But we would also encourage you to go further by rethinking how and what you teach more generally. This subject is deserving of its own blog post, but here are some suggestions to get you started:

  • De-centre the historical experiences of settlers.
    • Break away from that more traditional historical narrative! Andrea likes to start her pre-confederation surveys, for example, by talking about the American World System around the year 1000 C.E.
    • Similarly, integrate Indigenous history throughout your course, no matter what your topic is. Make Indigenous peoples the centre.
  • Emphasize Indigenous agency, resistance, and activism whenever possible.
  • Talk about the historical narratives that reinforce settler colonialism in the present.
  • Use readings by Indigenous authors and show films with Indigenous directors, writers, and actors.
  • Take the UBC MOOC on “Reconciliation through Indigenous Education.” Not only is it free, but you can complete it at your own pace!

Becoming an Ally/Concrete Actions

A discussion of allyship is beyond the scope of this blog post. Keylsey Raynard’s piece on a recent talk by Chantelle Bryson, “Allyship in the Context of Indigenous Rights,” contains a lot of useful information. As Bryson notes, you cannot give yourself the title of “ally.” Instead, “with a continuous commitment to building relationships with Indigenous peoples and communities, you may be invited to act as an ally and to use your privilege to amplify the voices and concerns of others.” If you seek to become an ally, Bryson outlines three particularly important recommendations:

  1. Do “continually advocate for discussions about Indigenous peoples to be centered around the actual lived experiences of these communities and the sources that support these experiences.”
  2. Do talk to other non-indigenous people about “privilege, oppression, and colonialism.”
  3. And finally, don’t take up space. Sometimes the most important thing to do is “[pass] the mic and [get] out of the way.”

For more information on concrete actions you can take in your journey to become an ally, we recommend the following sources:

Recommendations for Learning More

* Particularly important works. If you can only read a couple of things, read these.

Where possible, links have been provided.

Settler Colonialism in Canada

Settler Colonialism Outside Canada

Additional resources

Some Recommendations for Student Readings

*This is a very partial list of both personal favourites, and recommendations from friends and colleagues (see below for acknowledgements!)

  • Adam Barker, “Deathscapes of Settler Colonialism: The Necro-Settlement of Stoney Creek, Ontario, Canada,” Annals of the American Association of Geographers, prepublished January 23, 2018: 1-17.
  • Kristin Burnett, Travis Hay, and Lori Chambers, “Settler Colonialism, Indigenous Peoples and Food: Federal Indian policies and nutrition programs in the Canadian North since 1945,” Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History 17, no. 2 (Summer 2016).
  • Emilie Cameron, “Indigenous Spectrality and the Politics of Post-Colonial Ghost Stories,” Cultural Geographies 15, no. 2 (2008): 383-393.
  • Sarah Carter, Imperial Plots: Women, Land, and the Spadework of British Colonialism on the Canadian Prairies, (Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 2016).
  • Adam Gaudry and Darryl Leroux, “White Settler Revisioning and Making Métis Everywhere: The Evocation of Métissage in Quebec and Nova Scotia,” Critical Ethnic Studies 3, no. 1 (Spring 2017): 116-142.Rachel Alpha Johnston Hurst, “Colonial Encounters at the Turn of the Twentieth Century: “Unsettling” the Personal Photograph Albums of Andrew Onderdonk and Benjamin Leeson,” Journal Of Canadian Studies 49, no. 2 (Spring 2016): 227-267
  • Victoria Jackson, “Silent Diplomacy: Wendat Boys’ ‘Adoptions’ at the Jesuits Seminary 1636-1642,” Journal of the Canadian Historical Association 27, no. 1 (2016): 139-168.
  • John S. Long, Richard J. Preston, Katrina Srigley, Lorraine Sutherland, “Sharing the Land at Moose Factory in 1763,” Ontario History 109, no. 1 (Autumn 2017): 238-262.
  • Adele Perry, Aqueduct: Colonialism, Resources, and the Histories We Remember (Winnipeg: ARP, 2016)
  • Adele Perry, Colonial Relations: The Douglas-Connolly Family and the Nineteenth Century Imperial World, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015).
  • Sharon Wall, “Totem Poles, Teepees, and Token Traditions : ‘Playing Indian’ at Ontario Summer Camp, 1920-1955,” Canadian Historical Review 86, no. 3 (205): 513-544.

Resources for Talking About the Stanley Decision

Films

Really Smart and Awesome People to Follow on Twitter

We hope that you found this blog post to be useful! While it can be challenging to teach on the subject of settler colonialism in Canada, it is vitally important. 

We would like to extend a special thanks to Catherine Larochelle, @rcormeau, Karina Vernon, Sean Carleton, Ian Mosby, Kristine Alexander, Adele Perry, Sarah Rain, Sam Mclean, Anne Janhunen, Georgia Sitara, Krystl Raven, Carling Beninger, Heather Stanley, Kristian Hogan, Pete Anderson, Erin Millions, Maddie Knickerbocker, Skylee-Storm Hogan, Andrew Watson, and Amy Blanding for their help compiling this list of resources.  Extra special thanks to Maddie Knickerbocker, whose guidance has been invaluable in the writing of this blog post. Seriously, our community is awesome, and we are privileged to be a part of it. 

Finally,  I am so grateful that Sarah was willing to co-author this blog post with me. It was a pleasure and a privilege to work with her! Thank you again! Please make sure you follow her on Twitter @AllYorkNoPlay!

If you did enjoy this blog post or found it useful, please consider sharing it on the social media platform of your choice! And don’t forget to check back on Friday for our regular look at upcoming publications in the field of Canadian history. See you then!

]]> https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/04/02/imagining-a-better-future-an-introduction-to-teaching-and-learning-about-settler-colonialism-in-canada/feed/ 0 75235 The Halloween Special – Witchcraft in Canada https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/04/01/the-halloween-special-witchcraft-in-canada/ https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/04/01/the-halloween-special-witchcraft-in-canada/#respond Wed, 01 Apr 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://activehistory.ca/?p=75232 Read more »]]> This week marks the 10th anniversary of Unwritten Histories, a project created by Andrea Eidinger that has shaped how many of us think about the past—how it’s written, shared, and understood.

In the coming weeks, the site will be taken offline. The material won’t be lost: Andrea is in the process of building a Pressbook to house the content, and the website itself has been archived.

To mark the occasion, we’ll be revisiting some of the most memorable posts from Unwritten Histories—the ones that challenged assumptions, opened up new conversations, and continue to resonate.

October 31, 2017

“What the boys did to the cow.” Postcard. Date unknown. Toronto Reference Library. Arts department. ARTS-PC-117. Public Domain.

Note from Andrea: When I found out that Stephanie is doing her dissertation on the history of witchcraft in early French Canada, I immediately started harassing asking her to do a special blog post about her work for Halloween. Because how super cool is that topic? And, kind person that she is, she has obliged. Enjoy!

By Stephanie Pettigrew

I spent the first few years of my life in Cheticamp, Nova Scotia. After moving with my parents to Sydney, I channeled my teenage resentment into learning as much as I could about my real home at the library. This is where I first heard the story of the Cheticamp witches, in an old collection of Cape Breton ghost stories. Around the turn of the twentieth century, two warring camps in the village, the Acadians and the Jerseys, would take turns casting spells upon each other. The Jerseymen had their witch, and the Acadians had their “counter-witch.” When the Jerseys were displeased with someone in the community, they would respond with witchcraft, and the battle would begin. For example, if a fisherman didn’t come in with the expected haul, he might come home to find the family cow had stopped milking. He would call the “good” Acadian witch to solve the problem, and “unbewitch” the cow. There was one particularly amusing story of the Acadian witch getting particularly frustrated and enchanting a number of buckets to chase after the suspected Jersey witch.[1]

I had never heard of any of this growing up, and my grandmother didn’t think it was important. Having grown up in a fishing family, I think my focus on the past worried her a bit. She wanted me to be a woman of the future, with an education and the ability to depend only on myself and nobody else. We did, however, live next door to the run-down Anglican church, which by my time was an extremely spooky place, and my dad has told me stories about using his shotgun to scare off Satanists. But since Satanists are not witches, I’ll move on.

Fast forward several years, and I came across a casual mention of the 1684 witchcraft trial of Jean Campagnard in Beaubassin, Acadie.

I nearly jumped out of my chair. If you can imagine me yelling “WHAT!” and spilling my coffee everywhere, that was essentially my reaction. I had no idea that Acadia had ever had a witchcraft trial. None. And a passing mention in a book that I can’t even remember the title of now was not going to be it for me – I needed to read that trial. It turns out that Jean Campagnard was Acadie’s only prosecuted witchcraft case. An expert dyke builder from Aunis, he was accused of causing the death of his employer by blowing a mysterious substance into his eyes. My favourite part of the case is during the confrontation, when one of the witnesses has his testimony read out loud

“The witness states that he saw the accused spread mysterious seeds into the marsh while reciting an incantation and the next fall he had a terrible crop,” and Campagnard replied, “He doesn’t need magic to be a terrible farmer.”

So of course, this led me down the academic rabbit hole, and now here we are.

When most people think about witchcraft in early colonial North America, they immediately think of Salem, Massachusetts. In fact, those trials are so ubiquitous that I don’t even need to explain what I am talking about. But witchcraft and witchcraft trials were also relatively common in another part of early colonial North America: French Canada. However, these two locations had very different experiences with witch trials. So in today’s blog post, I am going to talk about the history of witchcraft and witchcraft trials in colonial French Canada and share some of my favourite stories!

Beyond Salem

While we most famously associate witchcraft law with Britain and Spain, many other countries, including France, also had witchcraft laws that were unique to each particular location. French witchcraft laws were very different from the British models. For one thing, because of the prevalence of witchcraft cases in certain areas, anyone found guilty of witchcraft, a capital offence, had the right to appeal to the provincial parlement.[2] So, for example, if someone was found guilty of witchcraft in Rouen in 1645, and sentenced to death, they would have the right to appeal their case to the provincial parlement of Normandy, which acted as the higher court. To avoid the costs of appeals, most individuals found guilty of witchcraft (and blasphemy, an accusation which was often intertwined with French witchcraft accusations) were condemned to banishment rather than death – a condemnation which could still be appealed, and was, but wasn’t payable by the community magistrates. Rather, it had to be paid out of pocket by the accused (or the condemned, as it were). The French courts also outlawed all forms of spectral evidence; “swimming” a witch to see if she would float, finding a witch’s mark, or testifying to how she could fly, change into some form of animal, or had visited you in a dream to torment you – popular forms of evidence in English courts – were not admissible in France. Essentially, anything that was deemed impossible in the natural world, or against God’s law, was deemed impossible by French judiciaries and therefore not credible evidence. Even someone confessing to witchcraft was deemed suspicious. In order to convict someone of witchcraft, tangible evidence needed to be presented. In the case of an individual accused of using witchcraft to poison someone, the actual poison would need to be presented in court – either a mysterious powder, potion, or even a toad would be considered damning. This is in direct contrast to the British, who, in the same era, were still condemning witches based on the swimming test.[3] By the time French colonization has reached the level where there is a formal legal process, there was already more than fifty years of precedent for witchcraft proceedings in the French legal framework, which was transported to the colony. While the New England colony is often seen as a separate place with separate laws, New France was very much an extension of the metropole. (That’s a controversial view to hold these days, but it’s true.)

Sexy Witches

It will perhaps come as no surprise to find out that sex is a frequent theme in the magic of New France. The first witchcraft accusation in the records of New France dates from 1661. A Local man, René Besnard, was accused of using the “nouement à l’aiguillette” (which can be translated as knotting the needle) on a young couple in the town, Pierre Gadois and Marie Pontonnier. The nouement à l’aiguillette was an extremely popular and feared spell in early modern France, used by jealous rivals to cause impotence in newly wedded grooms. It involved tying a piece of string three times while reciting an incantation, and was so feared, in fact, that getting married in secret, in the middle of the woods or in the dead of night, or both, to avoid possible rival witchcraft, was not unknown.[4]

The documents for Besnard’s trial are actually pretty scant, which is probably understandable considering the courts are only barely established at this point. All we have are his interrogation, which at the very least makes a couple of things clear. First, much of the trial centred on why Pontonnier and Gadois had been married for three years, and yet had still not provided a child. Besnard is interrogated regarding the subject of his conversations with Marie Pontonnier. It is not clear who started the rumours of magical intervention being the cause, but it’s definitely being talked about. Finally, after being asked over and over again if Besnard had told Pontonnier that he would remove the effects of the spell if she would have him over to her house while her husband was away, he admits

“yes, I did say that, but not because I did the magic – it was only because I wanted to enjoy her.”[5]

Books are Dangerous

Often witchcraft came alongside other charges, as was the case with Anne Lamarque, a cabaretière (tavern-keeper) in 1680s Montréal who was not only accused of witchcraft, but also debauchery, adultery, and suspected infanticide for good measure. Anne’s records are long, complicated, and gossipy. If you’ve ever lived in a small town, this trial will feel intimately familiar to you. Her neighbours are testifying to how often her husband is spending the night at the house, how often she is taking walks with suspected lovers, how frequently certain men are walking in and out of her tavern. But most importantly, she’s accused of having a magic book, or a grimoire. The doctor in particular is concerned with this book; he not only sees it, but reads some of it. He tells the court that the passage he read has to do with “making people love you,” and it disturbed him so much that he didn’t read any further. It didn’t disturb him so much that he refrained from telling the entire town, though. In fact, every witness who is asked if they know of the existence of such a book and who answers positively says, “Yes, I know of that book, the doctor told me about it, but I’ve never seen it.” The rumour begins to spread that Lamarque is using the spell the doctor saw in her book to draw all the young men to her tavern, and is debauching all the youth of Ville Marie with her magic and her sex.

Even soldiers were not immune to witchcraft charges. Three soldiers were caught with love spells in their pockets in 1699 in Trois Rivières, and subsequently charged with witchcraft. These spells were in the form of scrolls of paper with words written on them, but as part of the judgement was to burn the paper in question, sadly we’ll never know what the paper said. If it was anything like the counter-spells used by grooms who feared the nouement à l’aiguillette, it was likely bits of Latin written backwards. Lamarque’s grimoire, according to the doctor, had bits of Latin, French, and Greek mixed together. Love was obviously a huge concern for the witches of the seventeenth century.

The Best Laid Plans…

But by the eighteenth century, love (or sex) was less on the minds of the magically inclined. The 1742 trial of Charles Havard condemns him for the blasphemous use of a crucifix in a divination spell. A neighbour had lost a sum of money, and he promises to find it using a rather creative spell involving oil, ash, herbs, an upside-down crucifix which he sets on fire, and a mirror. Much to his error, he invited pretty much the entire neighbourhood to witness his feat, and like a true showman, had set the proper atmosphere with a banked fire and spooky candlelight. They all made sure to attest to every single minute detail when testifying against his blasphemous acts in court afterwards, especially since he failed to find the money.[6]

I wasn’t going to include the story of Jean Boudor, but Andrea asked me to (Andrea: can you blame me?). The actual charge against Boudor is blasphemy, but I’m classifying it as witchcraft cause it’s weird. A well-connected merchant with plenty of well-connected friends in 1680s Montréal, Boudor decided to have a dinner party. His chosen form of entertainment was his drunken servant, who got so inebriated he passed out. On the dinner table. So Boudor set up a crucifix, and his servant into position as if he were Christ, and “resurrected” him using a bucket of cold water, thereby re-enacting the resurrection of Christ. There were numerous complaints from those in attendance to the Montréal judiciary.[7]

La Corriveau

Of course, the most famous witch in all of New France was La Corriveau. The real-life woman, Marie Joseph La Corriveau, was accused and condemned of murdering her second husband in 1763. I find the popularity of La Corriveau mystifying. She’s on beer, she has songs, I think there’s a television show or a movie or something. French Canada can’t name any other witch, but something like 90% of them know about La Corriveau.

LA CORRIVEAU WAS NEVER ACCUSED OF WITCHCRAFT.

The whole mythos of La Corriveau and her supposed witchcraft evolved decades after her death. She was the first woman executed by the English regime in Québec, and I think that’s where her mystique comes from – they used a gibbet to hang her dead body, and the device had never been seen before in French Canada. She was actually accused of murdering her husband. Nothing in her trial speaks even a whisper of witchcraft. (If you want to see her trial documents, you can find them here.) I am almost certain the primary reason the association with witchcraft actually originates from Salem, and the iconography of the gibbet. So I guess you could call it ironic that French Canada’s most well-known witch is not a witch but is thought a witch because of English iconography. There are lots of interesting, actual witchcraft cases in French Canada’s archives, but for some reason, it’s the one that was never accused of witchcraft that gets the most attention. Go figure, I guess.

If you’d like to know anything else, please feel free to ask any questions you’d like! In the meantime, Happy Halloween!

That’s it for today! We hope you enjoyed this blog post. If you did, please consider sharing it on the social media platform of your choice. And as always, don’t forget to check back on Sunday for our regular Canadian History Roundup. Until then, have a Happy Halloween!

Notes

[1] For more information on the Cheticamp witches, you can consult the masters thesis written by Elizabeth Beaton, held at the Beaton Institute, Cape Breton University.

[2] This determination was made in 1624. Alfred Soman “The Parlement of Paris and the Great Witch Hunts (1565-1640)” Sixteenth Century Journal, 9:2 (30-44)

[3] Soman “The Parlement of Paris and the Great Witch Hunts (1565-1640)”

[4] Kevin Robbins, “Magical Emasculation, Popular Anticlericalism, and the Limits of the Reformation in Western France circa 1590” Journal of Social History 31:1 (61-83)

[5] All primary source material originate from the BANQ; the Montréal trials from the Vieux-Montréal branch, the Campagnard trial at the Québec branch (as well as digitized on their online Pistard search engine). Interrogation of René Besnard, 1660.

[6] The trial of Charles Havard, Montréal 1742. BANQ.

[7] The trial of Jean Boudor, Montreal 1689. BANQ.

]]> https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/04/01/the-halloween-special-witchcraft-in-canada/feed/ 0 75232 An Ode: A History of Lilacs in Canada https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/31/an-ode-a-history-of-lilacs-in-canada/ https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/31/an-ode-a-history-of-lilacs-in-canada/#respond Tue, 31 Mar 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://activehistory.ca/?p=75226 Read more »]]> This week marks the 10th anniversary of Unwritten Histories, a project created by Andrea Eidinger that has shaped how many of us think about the past—how it’s written, shared, and understood.

In the coming weeks, the site will be taken offline. The material won’t be lost: Andrea is in the process of building a Pressbook to house the content, and the website itself has been archived.

To mark the occasion, we’ll be revisiting some of the most memorable posts from Unwritten Histories—the ones that challenged assumptions, opened up new conversations, and continue to resonate.

May 2, 2017

The History of Lilacs in Canada

Spring is a very special time of year for me. For the most part, this has to do with lilacs, my favourite flowers. When I was a little girl, my elderly neighbour, Mr. Sullivan, had the most amazing lilac bush. He had planted several seedlings together when he first bought the house in the 1950s, so that by the 1980s, they had grown together into this massive tree. Every May, since this was Montreal, the tree would explode into bloom. This was my favourite time of the year, and one I looked forward to for months. The tree was next to my second-story bedroom window, so whenever my window was open, the scent of lilacs permeated my room. Mr. Sullivan would also bring over armfuls of lilac flowers for my family, and I always begged to be allowed to put a bouquet of them in my room. Over the years, lilacs have come to represent spring, joy, and wonder for me.

So, when I spotted a blooming lilac bush during a run the other day, I got to wondering about the history of lilacs, particularly in Canada. My husband was dubious; after all, who really cares about the history of a particular flower, even if it is really pretty? But, as I’ve discovered with my research, there is more to this flower than meets the eye.

The Roots

The history of the lilac, like so many other plants, is transnational. Lilacs are actually native to Eastern Europe and parts of Asia, though the most common and popular form in North America, the common lilac (S. vulgaris) is actually from the Balkans. The word “lilac,” entered into English in the 17th century, by way of French, Spanish, and (possibly) Arabic translations of the Persian word “lilak,” meaning “bluish.” It appears that lilacs traveled along trade routes all over Asia and Europe. [1] The first mention of “lelacke” trees in print in English was in 1625. [2]

Reshaping Landscapes

While no one would deny that lilacs are beautiful flowers (unless they have no soul), there is actually a sinister history behind these lovely plants. They are one of several European species that was introduced into North America deliberately by European settlers. It may surprise you to learn that there are no species of lilacs that are native to this continent.  Every lilac bush you’ve ever seen is a descendent of one of those first few brought over here in a deliberate attempt to colonize North America.

“Study of Iris Solomon’s Seal & Liliac[sic].” Alexander Henderson, Sandford Fleming Collection, Library and Archives Canada, accession number 1936-272 NPC

At this point, you may be thinking that I connect almost everything to colonialism in North America. And you’d be right. Colonization is a pernicious and all-encompassing force, so common and taken-for-granted that it has been normalized. Part of the work of doing history in a responsible and ethical fashion is drawing attention to this fact. Does this mean we should slash and burn all of the lilac bushes? Absolutely not! But it does mean that we need to remember a) where they came from and how they got here and b) why we assume that they are a North American plant.

So what do lilacs have to do with colonization? They, along with hundreds of other European plant and animal species helped in the colonization of North America by physically reshaping the landscape. What does this mean? Part of the work of colonization depends upon transforming one place into another. In many ways, it is similar to the process whereby a small city grows into a large city (as is happening right now in Richmond, BC).  For instance, familiar buildings and landmarks are torn down and replaced, like your neighbourhood restaurant being replaced by a new office building. Agricultural areas may be transformed into residential neighbourhoods. And your local fishing village becomes a tourist destination. Within a short span of time, the landscape that you may have grown up with is virtually unrecognizable.

With respect to North America, colonization required the transformation of Indigenous lands into European settlements. This happens in two ways: mentally and physically. Mental transformations can be as simple as name changes (like changing Hochelaga into Montreal), or as complicated as surveying and mapmaking.

Expert Tip: One of the most significant ways this was accomplished was by declaring North America as “terra nullias,” a Latin term that means, effectively, an uninhabited wildness that was there for the taking. A great source for learning more about how this works is Sabina Trimble’s article in BC Studies, “Storying Swílcha: Place-making and Power at a Stó:lõ Landmark.” I would also recommend Chelsea Vowel’s blog post, Rights? What rights?, and Joanne Hammond’s Twitter essay on the weaponization of history.

Physical transformations usually involve changing or altering the landscape and ecology of a particular location. This can be done by clearing trees to build farms and fields, building bridges, dams, and dykes, and introducing new plant and animal species. The end result of this process was that, within the span of a few generations, the pre-contact North American landscape was virtually unrecognizable. [3]  Lilac bushes were part of this process. Unlike some other introduced species, lilacs do not propagate easily in the wild. That means that whenever you encounter a lilac bush in the countryside, you are likely standing in the middle of an abandoned homested.[4] These solitary plants stand sentry long after the human inhabitants have gone.

Lilacs in Canadian History

“Lilac Blooms, Oakville, Ont.,” William James Topley, Topley Studio, Library and Archives Canada, PA-009694

There are no records of who brought lilacs to North America. While there is some disagreement about when exactly they became established in Canada,  it appears that by the middle of the eighteenth-century, they were a recognizable presence. For instance, both Thomas Jefferson and George Washington recorded planting them in their records. [5] However, early textual references to lilacs in Canada are few and far between. It’s unclear whether this is because lilacs were extremely common or very unusual.

Expert Tip: The lack of references in historical documents does not necessarily mean that something did not exist. People then, like today, take certain information for granted, and so don’t record things that were ordinary at the time. It’s very possible that lilacs were simply so common that they become, in effect, background noise. The same is true today, for example, for maple trees. When was the last time you mentioned them in an email?

One of the earliest Canadian references to lilacs comes from a collection of unpublished letters by Torontonian Elizabeth Russell, who described having a “white laylock” in her garden in 1816.[6] Another early reference appeared in the January 1839 edition of The Literary Garland, a monthly literary magazine published out of Montreal.  In essay an entitled “Beauties of Creation,” by an unknown author, lilacs serve as a symbol of pastoral joy:

When we sit at an open window in the still of the afternoon, and look out upon the fragrant lilacs, the blossoming trees, the clambering honeysuckles, the long green grass, half burying the bashful violet from our view, and hear the singing of the joyous birds, and the roar of the city afar off, we can hardly persuade ourself [sic] that there is such a strife and bickering among the inhabitants of this fair earth.[7]

But wherever they are found, they can speak to multiple histories. While I don’t have time to talk about every since reference to lilacs in Canadian history, (though that would be a fascinating exercise), here are three examples of what we can learn by looking for lilacs.

Lilacs and Penitentiary Reform

Though lilacs were not frequently mentioned in documents in the early nineteenth century, they do make a fascinating appearance  in one of the first investigations on prison reform.  in 1849, Father of Confederation George Brown was asked to investigate the living conditions at one of the first penitentiaries in Canadian history, the famous Kingston Penitentiary (previously home to, among others, Russell Williams, Paul Bernardo and Michael Rafferty). Among other things, this report uncovered the flogging of children for spurious offences (like laughing), complaints about the management of the Penitentiary, as well as some unusually large expenditures.The topic of lilacs came up during the questioning of James Hopkirk, Esq., Secretary of the Board of Inspectors. Hopkirk was asked to detail all of his financial transactions with the Warden, and he testified that

[he] got a few cuttings of shrubs from the Warden’s garden, but not a large supply; they were principally taken from what had been originally [his] own shrubs; they consisted of lilacs, snow-berries, roses, snowball trees, gooseberries, and currants – all cuttings; [he] had given the Warden two cart loads of shrubs in 1844, which were planted in his garden.[8]

There was apparently some confusion about whether or not Hopkirk had fully paid his debt to the Penitentiary, and whether or not these cuttings counted as expense. While this might seem like useless information, the listing and description of transactions provides an important window into the daily life of penitentiary officials, and illustrates the vast inequalities between the of inmates, guards, inspectors, and wardens; while inmates endured corporal punishment and inadequate food, penitentiary inspectors were spending their time tending to flower gardens.

Visions of Lilacs

By the end of the nineteenth century and beginning of the twentieth century, lilacs had fully entered into the Canadian landscape and imagination as symbols of beauty and innocence. [9] Though they serve no practical purpose, since they are strictly ornamental plants (though I suppose you could eat them if you really wanted to), lilacs were regularly planted on farms all across this country. Their significance was such that they even made appearances in Canadian literature. You may remember this passage from Lucy Maud Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables,

Anne dropped on her knees and gazed out into the June morning, her eyes glistening with delight. Oh, wasn’t it beautiful? Wasn’t it a lovely place? Suppose she wasn’t really going to stay here! She would imagine she was. There was scope for imagination here. A huge cherry-tree grew outside, so close that its boughs tapped against the house, and it was so thick-set with blossoms that hardly a leaf was to be seen. On both sides of the house was a big orchard, one of apple-trees and one of cherry-trees, also showered over with blossoms; and their grass was all sprinkled with dandelions. In the garden below were lilac-trees purple with flowers, and their dizzily sweet fragrance drifted up to the window on the morning wind.[10]

(We also know that there were lilacs on Montgomery’s father’s farm. You can see a picture of them here.)

Lilacs were also mentioned by another famous Canadian author,  noted suffragette and Famous Five member, Nellie McClung. Her mother, Letitia McCurdy Mooney, planted groves of lilac trees between 1859 and 1880 on their farm at Chatsworth. [11] They clearly made an impression on McClung, since they are referenced later in her writing. They are mentioned in her best known book, In Times Like These. In the chapter titled “As a Man Thinketh,” an essay on the virtues of farming and farm labour, she critiques renters in particular (whom she distinguishes from “true” farmers, for not appreciating the true rewards of labour, saying,

The people to whom the farm is rented do not care anything about the lilac or raspberry bushes – there is no money in them. All they care about is wheat – they have to pay the rent and they want to make money. They have the wheat lust, so the lilacs bloom or not as they feel disposed.[12]

I particularly like another reference she made to lilacs, in a column she wrote for the Victoria Daily Times on May 3, 1941, on springtime on the Pacific coast:

Just now we are in that lovely time when the cherry blossoms on the grass like confetti make every walk look like the church steps on a Wednesday in June. Tulips edge the paths, and through the blossoming apple trees we see the deep blue of the sea. Everywhere flowers are blooming, the stately iris, purple, white and light blue — wallflowers along the roads in shades of yellow and brown with their almond perfume — lilacs are in bloom, and the broom along the roads frame each picture in gold.

Lilacs: A Canadian Flower?

The history of lilacs in Canada is also a history of innovation and women in science. The Central Experimental Farm in Ottawa was an international centre for the development of lilac varieties. By 1899, The Central Experimental Farm’s lilac collection included over fifty different varieties from places like Persia, Hungary, China, and Japan. Sir William Saunders, the first director of the research branch of the Central Experimental Farm, commented that lilacs were deservedly popular because “They are easily grown and the beauty and fragrance of their flowers so freely produced in the early spring, and the richness of their foliage throughout the season.”[13]

The first professional female hybridist in Canada, Isabella Preston, worked with lilacs at the Central Experimental Farm, beginning in the 1920 at the age of 39. [14] She crossed wild and domesticated varieties to produce a specifically late-blooming Canada-hardy lilac, S. ×prestoniae, that could withstand our harsh winters, and was even accepted at Kew Gardens in London for testing. (Fun fact: Her lilac cultivars were named largely after Shakespearian heroines). She continued her work until her retirement in 1946, having developed over 200 individual hybrids. [15] Her work was later complimented by that of Dr. Frank Skinner of Roblin, Manitoba, who began developing lilacs for the Canadian prairie shortly after Preston. Both also introduced additional lilac hybrids, including the beautiful pink Miss Canada lilac.[16]  Lilacs continue to be a feature at the Central Experimental Farm to this day.[17]

Lilacs in Ontario

The lilacs in Ottawa on April 28th, 2017 (photo courtesy of Pete Anderson. Please do not repost without permission).

The lilacs at the Central Experimental Farm also tie us  back to settler colonialism.  As Peter Anderson has argued in his fantastic article, “Comparing Nineteenth and Twenty-first Century Ecological Imaginaries at Ottawa’s Central Experimental Farm,” The Farm is one of several agricultural research stations all across this country, which are designed to serve the Canadian agricultural industry. And however much scientists like to argue that science is impartial and objective, the reality is that all of science is a reflection of human desires and wills. While I won’t go into too much detail, especially since I’ve already discussed this article in a previous Best New Articles post, the gardens of the Central Experimental Farm are imaginations of particular landscapes, supposedly natural environments that are actively shaped by human hands. In the case of the Dominion Aboretum, this garden represented an imagined prairie landscape under settler colonialism, with trees and plants as agents of colonialism. The efforts that Preston put into the creation of a cultivar of lilac that would flourish specifically in the cold Canadian climate suggests her believe that lilacs, an introduced species from Europe, were, and should continue to be, a “natural” part of the Canadian landscape.

Conclusion

Evanescent and ephemeral, lilacs have been a part of the Canadian landscape for generations. An introduced species, they are a tangible legacy of colonization and settlement. But they are also signposts for lost homes, symbols of innocence, naiveté, and wonder, and landmarks of scientific experimentation. And, as such, they are a metaphor for the contradictory and complex nature of Canadian’s past – unwritten histories in the form of a flower.

A picture of our local lilac bush from last year.

A picture of our local lilac bush from last year.

I spent many happy hours as a little girl under the lilac tree with Mr. Sullivan, sipping lemonade, talking about my dreams, playing card games (Mr. Sullivan’s favourites were Hearts and Crazy 8s), and learning how to grow a garden. As I grew older, I didn’t visit Mr. Sullivan and his wife quite as often. I was self-absorbed and careless the way many teenagers are. But every spring, I knew I could count on the lilac tree and Mr. Sullivan.

In my early twenties, Mr. Sullivan and his wife decided to move to Calgary to be nearer to their grandchildren. They were getting older and wanted to spend their remaining time with their family. I was devastated to lose my surrogate grandparents. But before he left, Mr. Sullivan gave me several seedlings from his plant. We weren’t sure if the new owners of his house would preserve the tree, but he wanted to make sure that something of it survived. And I think he knew just how much that tree meant to me. He died not long afterwards, but those little seedlings have flourished and now they watch over my niece and nephew as they play in the backyard.

I hope you enjoyed this blog post. If you did, please consider sharing it on the social media platform of your choice! Don’t forget to check back on Sunday for our regular new Canadian History Roundup. Until then, don’t forget to get outside and appreciate the spring flowers while they’re still here!

Sources:

[1] http://www.friendsofthefarm.ca/lilacs/lilachistgenus.htm

[2] “lilac, n.”. OED Online. March 2016. Oxford University Press.

[3] Colin Coates. The Metamorphoses Of Landscape And Community In Early Quebec (Montréal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2000): 13-31 and J. Michael Thomas, “A Place Called Pennask: Fly-Fishing and Colonialism as a British Columbia Lake.” BC Studies no. 133 (Spring 2002): 69-98.

[4] Helen Ross Skinner, “With a Lilac by the Door: Some Research into Early Gardens in Ontario,” Bulletin of the Association for Preservation Technology 15, no. 4, (1983): 35.

[5] http://www.friendsofthefarm.ca/lilacs/lilachistgenus.htm

[6] Elizabeth Russell, unpublished letters (Toronto: Canadian History Department, Metropolitan Toronto Library.) Cited in Skinner, “With a Lilac by the Door: Some Research into Early Gardens in Ontario,” 35.

[7] “Beauties of Creation,” The Literary Garland 1, no. 2 (Jan. 1839): 66.

[8] Canada, Legislative Assembly, Appendix BBBBB to Journals, 3rd Parliament, 2nd Sess, vol 8, (May 30, 1849). “Case of Guard Watt – Evidence from James Hopkirk, Esq., by Mr. Smith.”

[9] “Flower Shrubs in Winter,” The Canadian Horticulturist 18, no. 12 (Dec. 1895): 440.

[10] Lucy Maud Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables. (Boston: L.C. Page& Co, 1908). Project Gutenberg, E-Book, https://archive.org/details/anneofgreengable00045gut (April 29, 2016).

[11] http://search-bcarchives.royalbcmuseum.bc.ca/nellie-mooney-mcclungs-parents-place-mooney-homestead-one-mile-south-of-chatsworth-lilac-trees-were-planted-by-nellies-mother-between-1859-and-1880

[12] Nellie McClung, “As A Man Thinketh,” In Times Like These (New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1915), 184-185.

[13] “Lilacs,” The Canadian Horticulturist, 22, no. 5 (May 1899): 169-173.

[14] http://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/isabella-preston/

[15] https://www.uoguelph.ca/oac/140faces/isabella-preston

[16] http://www.friendsofthefarm.ca/lilacs/lilachistgenus.htm

[17] http://www.friendsofthefarm.ca/lilacs/

]]> https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/31/an-ode-a-history-of-lilacs-in-canada/feed/ 0 75226 Remembering Through the Body: Why We Turned to Research-Creation https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/30/remembering-through-the-body/ https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/30/remembering-through-the-body/#respond Mon, 30 Mar 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://activehistory.ca/?p=73927 Read more »]]> By Alisha Stranges and Elspeth H. Brown

231 Mutual St., Toronto, former site of Club Toronto and the Pussy Palace bathhouse events. Illustration by Ayo Tsalithaba. LGBTQ Oral History Digital Collaboratory (PI, Elspeth Brown), 2023.

When we began the Pussy Palace Oral History Project, we faced a familiar problem in queer oral history. Conventional interviews privilege chronology and plot. They ask what happened, who was there, what came next. In the case of the Pussy Palace, that gravitational pull led almost inevitably toward the 2000 police raid.

But, as we have hinted in earlier posts, the Palace was more than the raid. It was a bathhouse party: a humid, crowded, erotic world that unfolded across four floors of Club Toronto. And yet there are no public photographs of it, no ambient recordings, no architectural blueprints marked with memory.

The sensory life of the Palace — its atmosphere — risked remaining unarchived, and without primary sources that index sensory detail, historical writing quickly becomes stale, unimaginative, and frankly, a bit boring.

Turning to the Body

In response, we experimented with what we later came to call somatic elicitation: a contemplative interviewing technique that interrupts narrative flow and turns attention to the body.[1]

Instead of asking “What happened?”, we asked:

Where are you standing?
What do you hear?
What does the air smell like?
How does the room taste?
If this space had a colour, what would it be?

Such questions prompted an immediate shift.

When invited to return to the pool deck and describe what they could hear, Karen B. K. Chan said: “I keep hearing, like, ice in my glass… the feeling of having a gin and tonic [on] a stolen summer night.” Sound became sensation. Memory fused with mood.

When asked about touch, Chloë Brushwood Rose recalled leaning against the wood-paneled walls. The architecture itself registered in her body: “There was a solidity to the space,” she said. “I always felt quite safe there… like a feeling of being held.”

Across interviews, smells accumulated into what one narrator called simply “the smell of wet”: soap, chlorine, sweat, damp carpet, heat wafting from one’s leathers. Individually, these fragments were small. Collectively, they formed an atmosphere.

Through narrators’ embodied, sensory memories, we sidestepped the familiar “this happened, then this happened” style of narration that appears so readily in other sources, including newspaper coverage from the time and even the narrators’ own writing in the wake of the raid. Somatic elicitation surfaced what often lingers beneath rehearsed stories: ambient joy, bass vibrations, awkwardness, erotic charge, containment, humidity. It generated an archive of feelings, as Ann Cvetkovich might say — sensorily rich, temporally nonlinear, and resistant to raid-centered narratives.

And it posed a new problem: How do you present memory that lives in sensation?

The material emerging from these interviews could not be fully conveyed through transcripts alone. Narrators described rooms that no longer exist; spaces never photographed; scenes remembered through touch and breath. We needed a visual language that could hold atmosphere without claiming documentary authority.

What followed was not a pre-planned aesthetic strategy, but a cascade of creative decisions shaped by method, ethics, and platform.

Sensory Portraits: An Aesthetic Born of Constraint

The first major experiment was the Sensory Portraits video shorts, which were designed to activate the rich oral testimony that emerged from our somatic elicitation exercise.

Initially conceived as live-action pieces using Zoom footage, the format changed when project narrator Robin Woodward asked that her image not be used — preferring to avoid what she coyly referred to as her “pandemic-winter face.” The request was modest and entirely reasonable. It also destabilized the visual foundation of the series.

We had rich audio but no archival footage — no B-roll of the scenes Robin described. Rather than abandon the project, we turned to illustration and animation. Working with Creative Producer Ayo Tsalithaba, we storyboarded scenes based on sensory transcripts. Original digital paintings — rendered in a greyscale, graphic novel style with subtle pink accents — were animated and layered with interview audio and soundscapes.

What began as an ethical constraint ultimately became the project’s aesthetic signature.

Animation could achieve something archival stills could not. It allowed us to convey humidity, shifting light, submerged bodies, and ambient sound, rendering atmosphere without claiming literal reconstruction.

The method had produced sensory density. Animation gave it form.

Watch “Sensory Memory Portrait: Robin Woodward”

Sensory Portrait: Robin Woodward.” Narration by Robin Woodward; illustration, animation, and editing by Ayo Tsalithaba; concept and direction by Alisha Stranges. LGBTQ Oral History Digital Collaboratory (PI, Elspeth Brown), 2021.

Instagram Stories: Meeting the Public Where They Gather

Selection from Instagram Stories: An Average Night. Concept by Elio Colavito; illustrations by Ayo Tsalithaba. LGBTQ Oral History Digital Collaboratory (PI, Elspeth Brown), 2021–2022.

The illustrated aesthetic developed in the Sensory Portraits soon migrated to another platform: Instagram.

Rather than simply promote the oral history collection, we created an 18-episode illustrated series depicting what might have been an “average night” at the Pussy Palace — if such a thing ever existed. Conceived by the project’s Co-Oral Historian Elio Colavito, the series drew from recurring patterns across our 36 interviews. Most patrons, for example, heard about the Palace through word of mouth. Many took the TTC to get there. Many waited in line outside before crossing the threshold into another world.

Drawing on both empirical recurrence (in the tradition of Kennedy and Davis) and narrative reconstruction (in conversation with Saidiya Hartman’s critical fabulation), we wove shared experiences into episodic scenes. Tsalithaba’s illustrations brought these episodes to life, offering imaginative re-envisionings that, at times, foregrounded trans and racialized bodies more prominently than the mostly white, cisgender narrator pool had described.

The images thus became interpretive acts, opening space for counter-histories rather than simply mirroring testimony. In this sense, the series resonates with Hartman’s argument that the challenge of representing lives partially lost to the archive should not lead to despair but instead be embraced as “the impossibility that conditions our knowledge of the past and animates our desire for a liberated future.”[2]

Instagram Stories, which disappear after 24 hours unless archived, offered a form that echoed the Palace itself: immersive yet fleeting, public yet semi-contained. The platform allowed us to meet queer and trans audiences where they already gather, translating oral testimony into visual narrative while maintaining care around privacy and algorithmic exposure.

Patrons engaging with The Pussy Palace: An Instagram Story, Gallery 1265, University of Toronto Scarborough. Photographs by Diana Pearson, 2023.

Later, the series was adapted into a self-led physical exhibition. Individual episode boards reproduced the illustrations with expanded text, while QR codes linked visitors to videograms featuring oral history soundbites. A typically virtual, vertical scroll experience became spatial and embodied again.

The Digital Exhibit: Emplacement as Method

If the Sensory Portraits responded to voice, and Instagram responded to platform, the digital exhibit responded to space.

“Explore the Palace” is the cornerstone of the project’s immersive digital exhibit. Visitors navigate nine rooms across four floors: from the first-floor threshold and dance floor to the fourth-floor photo booth and Temple. An interactive map allows users to move sequentially or jump between rooms, approximating the layered experience that narrators described.

“Explore the Palace: The Threshold,” webpage mockup. Design by Alisha Stranges, Jesse Sinfield, and Peter Luo; illustrations by Ayo Tsalithaba. LGBTQ Oral History Digital Collaboratory (PI, Elspeth Brown), 2025.

Each room is digitally reimagined using contemporary reference images and silhouetted vignettes. Glowing objects, once clicked, activate curated audio clips tied to the specific locale. Memory is anchored spatially: you do not simply hear about the Group Sex Room on the third floor; you ascend toward it — even happen upon it.

This is not simulation. It is emplacement.

Somatic elicitation revealed that memory unfolded through orientation — climbing stairs, turning corners, wading through crowds. The exhibit asks users to move in order to encounter historical fragments. It rejects the linearity of the traditional digital archive in favour of layered navigation.

Embodied memory demanded spatial design.

Research-Creation as Public History

None of these outcomes were aesthetic embellishments added after the “real” research was complete. Rather, they emerged during the research itself in response to methodological and ethical challenges.

The Pussy Palace oral histories routinely produced material that exceeded narrative explanation. Ethical care reshaped visual strategy, while the absence of archival imagery demanded invention. Each constraint generated form.

For queer and trans histories — especially those rooted in erotic life — archival absence is common. Atmosphere evaporates. Buildings close. Photographs are scarce or risky. To document such worlds requires more than preservation; it requires creative mediation.

In this context, research-creation — combining creative artistic practices with scholarly research to generate new insights — is not decorative. It is an ethical and epistemological stance. It acknowledges that some histories survive in bodies before they survive in documents, and that public history must sometimes move, glow, animate, and breathe in order to carry them.

Research-creation is not an aesthetic supplement to scholarship. It is our methodological response to embodied memory. The Pussy Palace persists not only in court transcripts or newspaper headlines, but in remembered dampness, wood grain, chlorine, laughter.

To tell that history faithfully, we had to follow sensation where it led.

[1] Saidiya Hartman, “Venus in Two Acts,” Small Axe : A Caribbean Journal of Criticism 12, no. 2 (2008): p. 13.

[2] To learn more about somatic elicitation, see Alisha Stranges and Elspeth H. Brown, “Sensing the Palace: Somatic Elicitation in Queer Oral History,” Journal of Lesbian Studies (2026): 1–22, doi:10.1080/10894160.2026.2612802.

Alisha Stranges is a public humanities scholar based at the University of Toronto. She serves as Research Manager and Project Oral Historian for the LGBTQ Oral History Digital Collaboratory, where her work bridges oral history, performance, and digital research creation.

Elspeth Brown is Professor of History at the University of Toronto and Director of the LGBTQ Oral History Digital Collaboratory. A scholar of queer and trans history, oral history, and archives, she is the author of Work! A Queer History of Modeling (Duke University Press).

To learn more about this history, visit our project websiteor explore our immersive digital exhibit.

]]> https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/30/remembering-through-the-body/feed/ 0 73927 10 Years: Unwritten Histories – The Blog https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/29/10-years-unwritten-histories-the-blog/ https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/29/10-years-unwritten-histories-the-blog/#respond Sun, 29 Mar 2026 22:00:00 +0000 https://activehistory.ca/?p=75212 Read more »]]> This week marks the 10th anniversary of Unwritten Histories, a project created by Andrea Eidinger that has shaped how many of us think about the past—how it’s written, shared, and understood.

In the coming weeks, the site will be taken offline. The material won’t be lost: Andrea is in the process of building a Pressbook to house the content, and the website itself has been archived.

To mark the occasion, we’ll be revisiting some of the most memorable posts from Unwritten Histories—the ones that challenged assumptions, opened up new conversations, and continue to resonate.

March 29, 2016

photo-1429051781835-9f2c0a9df6e4

Welcome! This blog will focus on the unwritten rules to history, as both a discipline, a field of study, and as a career. The information that appears in this blog is the result of thirteen years of doing history at the undergraduate and graduate level as well as six years working as a sessional instructor.

Here’s a look at some of the series I’ll be featuring:

  • Undergraduate Corner:
    • How to find good secondary and primary sources and what to do with them once you have them
    • How to construct an argument
    • Dos and Don’ts for paper writing
    • The art of documentation
  • Graduate School
    • How to prepare for comps
    • Navigating your relationship with your supervisor
    • Applying for grants
  • How To Do Academic Research 
    • Tips and Tricks for effectively searching archives
    • What to do with your research material once you’ve found it
    • Useful software for historians (Evernote, Devonthink, Scrivener, Pages)
  • So You Want to be a Sessional
    • How to build your own course outlines
    • Selecting appropriate reading material
    • Coming up with lesson plans
    • Online resources for activities
    • Developing your pedagogy
    • Building relationships with students
  • The Academic Life
    • Age and seniority
    • Conferences
    • Building on online presence and social media profile (especially on Twitter!)
    • Finding love
    • Survival tips when moving to a new city and/or university
    • Staying sane, happy, and healthy
  • Good Reads
    • Fiction, non-fiction, academic books, articles, and blogs I’m enjoying
  • Historical Tidbits
    • Interesting stories
    • Latest historical or archaeological discoveries

This is the information that I wish I had known going into university, when I applied for graduate school, during graduate school, and in my early academic career. The kind of information that, as many historians would say, is taken for granted, and consequently rarely discussed. Few academic historians will teach you this information, believing that acquiring this knowledge is part of the process of becoming an academic. But I think this kind of attitude perpetuates the “professorial mystique” while also crippling young historians. I can tell you that I’ve learned so much more outside of graduate school than I ever did while enduring it, and that my understanding of the past now is consequently much deeper and richer.

While I will be focusing on Canadian history, since that’s my background, the information on this site will be useful, no matter your specific field.

]]> https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/29/10-years-unwritten-histories-the-blog/feed/ 0 75212 “Entre Amis in an Era of Polarization” https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/25/entre-amis-in-an-era-of-polarization/ https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/25/entre-amis-in-an-era-of-polarization/#respond Wed, 25 Mar 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://activehistory.ca/?p=73776 Read more »]]> By Stephanie Bangarth and Sara Beth Keough

In March 2026, a Canadian historian and an American Geographer met in Cambridge, ON to begin a collaborative project, literally “between friends,” inspired by Canada’s 1976 bicentennial gift to the United States, the coffee table book Between Friends/Entre Amis.[i] The year 2026 marks the 50th anniversary of this gift. And we are those two scholars.  Looking at this book together, as friends and scholars from opposite sides of the border, inspired questions about the current relationship between Canada and the United States. What did this book mean to the two countries at the time of its publication? What does this book mean 50 years later? How has the polarization of the Canada-U.S. relationship changed the meaning of this gift?  This essay is our reflection on the historical context of the book and some possible answers to these questions.

First edition publication of the book Between Friends/Entre Amis. Photo by authors.

Between Friends/Entre Amis was Canada’s official gift to the United States on the occasion of its bicentennial in 1976. Twenty-six Canadian photographers were commissioned by Lorraine Monk of the Still Photography Division of the National Film Board of Canada, and some 220 photographs were ultimately included in the volume. Designed to celebrate “the longest undefended international border in the world,” photographers were tasked with capturing images within 30 miles of the Canada-U.S. border, beginning in the Arctic, down the Alaska panhandle and across the Rockies, prairies, Great Lakes, Quebec, and the Maritimes. McClelland & Stewart’s press run was the most ambitious Canadian publishing project to that time. Indeed, some 200,000 copies were printed, and the book received outstanding praise and criticism in the press on both sides of the border. A special Presentation Edition was extended for American dignitaries. Pierre Trudeau and Lorraine Monk personally gave President Ford his copy in a Washington ceremony. The entire project cost about $1 million (in 1976).

Lorraine Monk and Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau present President Gerald Ford with the bicentennial gift, Between Friends/Entre Amis in the Rose Garden at the White House. Courtesy Gerald R. Ford Presidential Library.

The photos are expressive, capturing a land and some of its people at work and at home. There is beauty, subjectivity, exclusivity, and some aberrations in these images (the juxtaposition of a motorcycle gang in Detroit and a ladies lawn bowling club in Buffalo is one). The language in the volume is warm, even intimate—entre amis. The rhetoric of friendship has long been central to Canada–U.S. relations. It is a phrase that appears in speeches, trade negotiations, military alliances, and cultural exchanges. It reassures publics that despite disagreements, the relationship is stable, civil, and enduring. But what does “friendship” mean in an era marked by democratic backsliding, culture wars, and deepening polarization on both sides of the 49th parallel?

Anniversaries are culturally important on both sides of the border, and independence anniversaries are significant opportunities to reinforce national identities. The book was not the first anniversary gift exchanged between the two countries. In May 1967, then President Lyndon B. Johnson presented “The Great Ring of Canada,” made of Steuben Glass in Corning, NY, to then Prime Minister Lester B. Pearson to commemorate Canada’s centennial. The Ring is on display today in the Canadian Museum of History in Ottawa

President Lyndon B. Johnson and Prime Minister Lester B. Pearson gaze at The Great Ring of Canada during the 1967 World Exposition in Montreal, a gift from the United States on Canada’s centennial anniversary. (Source: Corning Museum of Glass and Steuben.com)

But, the book was unique. It was a visual time capsule of people and places along the border in 1976, albeit filtered through the Canadian national lens, and of the National Film Board of Canada in particular. There are several distinctly “Canadian” things about the book: the combination of English with French translations, a focus on snowy landscapes, and an over-emphasis on the rural, which does encompass most of the territory of Canada.

Thus, there is more in this collection than meets the eye. Lorraine Monk insisted that all photographs be in colour, lest Americans think the book cheap. The Canadian government provided 20,000 copies to be distributed free to libraries and public institutions in the United States and Canada, split evenly between the two nations. Dotted throughout the volume were political quotations about the border in French and English, with translations provided in an insert. One such quote is from former Canadian prime minister John Diefenbaker: “Our peoples are North Americans. We are children of our geography, products of the same hopes, faith and dreams.”[ii] Book-giving has been a part of official and unofficial diplomacy, as Jody Mason and Janice Cavellnote.[iii]

Historians remind us that the language of friendship has always done political work. During the Cold War, officials framed continental defence cooperation as a partnership among equals, even as asymmetries of power were obvious. The creation of the North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD) in 1958 was presented not only as strategic necessity but as evidence of mutual trust. Friendship often softened sovereignty concerns. The same was true in trade. When the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) came into force in 1994, its supporters often described it as the natural extension of an already intimate economic relationship. Critics, however, questioned whether friendship could survive economic restructuring and labour dislocation. They understood that economic integration is not expressively neutral; it reshapes communities and redistributes risk.

In moments of strain, the language of friendship becomes even more visible. During disputes over softwood lumber, border security after 9/11, or steel and aluminum tariffs, leaders repeatedly reassured one another—and their domestic audiences—that disagreements were “between friends.” The phrase implied a boundary: conflict, yes; rupture, no. Consider the events surrounding the 2020 U.S. election and the January 6, 2021 attack on the Capitol. For many Canadians, the spectacle prompted reflection on democratic fragility south of the border. Yet Canadian institutions have faced their own tests—from convoy protests to provincial–federal tensions. The mirror cuts both ways.

The history of cross-border activism suggests that “entre amis” has never been confined to official diplomacy. During the civil rights era, Canadian activists looked to figures such as Martin Luther King Jr. for inspiration, while also grappling with racism at home. Feminist, environmental, and labour movements have long operated continentally, building solidarities that bypass formal state channels. In these cases, friendship was not a slogan but a practice—sometimes uneasy, often critical. Indeed, friendship can entail critique. Throughout the twentieth century, Canadians publicly condemned U.S. segregation, war policy, and interventionism. Americans, in turn, have criticized Canada’s treatment of Indigenous peoples and its immigration policies, and its embrace of supply-side management. Such exchanges complicate the comforting myth of seamless harmony. Polarization heightens these tensions. And yet, the infrastructure of interdependence remains dense. The world’s longest undefended border still facilitates extraordinary flows of people and goods. Families straddle it. Supply chains depend on it. Shared waters—from the Great Lakes to the Arctic—require cooperative environmental and infrastructure stewardship. In practical terms, disengagement is not an option.

Borders, of course, are as much real as they are imaginary, as much virtual as they are material.[iv] Perhaps this is where history offers a sober lesson, even if the images of Between Friends/entre amis demonstrate otherwise. Canada–U.S. friendship has never meant the absence of conflict. It has meant the management of conflict within an accepted framework of mutual recognition. That framework has endured wars in Vietnam and Iraq, trade battles, and divergent approaches to social policy. Its durability stems less from sentiment than from habit and institutionalization. The danger in an age of polarization is not disagreement itself but the erosion of trust in democratic norms. If friendship once implied shared liberal democratic commitments, we must now ask how secure those commitments are—and how they are defended. Diplomatic language cannot substitute for democratic practice.

Although the “friendly” border is certainly a key focal point of the book, the fact that the book is divided into regions aligns with journalist Joel Garreau’s idea that the Canada-U.S. border may not matter as much as regional distinctions. [v]  Many of Garreau’s proposed “regions” straddle the border, connecting Canadian and American elements on both sides, rather than separating them. Richard Harris applied this form of regionalism to his work on North American cities, noting that Seattle and Vancouver share more cultural and physiogeographic similarities than differences, but are indeed different than their central or eastern North American counterparts.[vi] So, too, does Between Friends support the idea that the border connects, rather than divides…at least it did in 1976.

As we consider the book in the context of 2026, references by the White House to Canada’s potential as a “51st State” beg the question: is the Canada-U.S. border still a line “between friends”? Revisiting Between Friends/entre amis reminds us that the phrase has always been aspirational. It gestures toward an ideal relationship, one rooted in proximity, shared history, and overlapping political cultures. But aspiration requires maintenance. It demands civic engagement, cross-border dialogue, and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths. In this sense, the future of Canada–U.S. friendship may depend less on summits and more on citizens. Historians, educators, journalists, and activists all play a role in sustaining critical yet constructive engagement across the border. Friendship, after all, is not the denial of difference. It is the commitment to work through it.

As polarization reshapes North American politics, the question is not whether Canada and the United States remain “between friends.” It is whether they are prepared to practice the kind of friendship that democracy requires: honest, resilient, and capable of self-reflection.

[i] Lorraine Monk, ed., Between Friends/Entre Amis (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1976).

[ii] Between Friends/Entre Amis, p. 111.

[iii] Jody Mason, Books for Development: Canada in the Late Twentieth-Century World (Montréal & Kingston: MQUP, 2026); Janice Cavell, ”Canadiana Abroad: The Department of External Affairs’ Book Presentation Programmes, 1949-1963.” American Review of Canadian Studies 39, no. 2 (June 2009): 81-93.

[iv] Scott Mackenzie, “A line in the snow: Visualizing borders both imaginary and real,” Public 16 (1996): 57-64.

[v] Joel Garreau, The Nine Nations of North America (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1981).

[vi] Richard Harris, “Canadian Cities in a North American Context,” in Thomas McIlwraith and Edward Muller, eds. North America: The Historical Geography of a Changing Continent (Lanham, MD: Roman & Littlefield, 1987): 445-462.

Stephanie Bangarth is Professor of History at Kings University College at Western University and has been a member of the Association for Canadian Studies in the United States since 1999.

Sara Beth Keough is Professor of Geography at Saginaw Valley State University in Michigan and President of the Association for Canadian Studies in the United States.

]]> https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/25/entre-amis-in-an-era-of-polarization/feed/ 0 73776 Tenants’ Collective Responses to Housing Crises across Canada from 1900 until Present https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/19/tenants-collective-responses-to-housing-crises-across-canada-from-1900-until-present/ https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/19/tenants-collective-responses-to-housing-crises-across-canada-from-1900-until-present/#respond Thu, 19 Mar 2026 10:32:00 +0000 https://activehistory.ca/?p=73802 Read more »]]>

2022 Banner drop by tenants organised with le Syndicat des locataires autonomes de Montréal, Montreal Autonomous Tenants’ Union, (SLAM)1

This series looks at the different housing crises tenants have experienced across Canada from the 1900s until the present and details how they responded, successfully and unsuccessfully, through tactics of community and/or class-based direct action and structures based in grassroots direct democracy. We hope that by putting forward these examples, we can better inform the actions of activists in the present. Each blog post in this series centres on a single community and/or organisation, contextualises their existence within the conditions of their time, and recounts important moments or struggles, drawing lessons for or parallels to the present.

Fred Burrill, Tenant Resistance to the Myth of “Supply and Demand”

Series editors Zakary Hartley-Dawson and Sofia O’Reilly.

  1. “Devenir Membre,” Syndicat Des Locataires Autonomes de Montréal (SLAM), accessed 24 March 2026, https://www.slam-matu.org/en/devenir-membre/. ↩︎

]]> https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/19/tenants-collective-responses-to-housing-crises-across-canada-from-1900-until-present/feed/ 0 73802 Tenant Resistance to the Myth of “Supply and Demand” https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/19/tenant-resistance-to-the-myth-of-supply-and-demand/ https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/19/tenant-resistance-to-the-myth-of-supply-and-demand/#respond Thu, 19 Mar 2026 10:21:00 +0000 https://activehistory.ca/?p=73800 Read more »]]> By Fred Burrill

This post is part of the Tenants’ Collective Responses to Housing Crises across Canada series.

Anti-gentrification demonstration in Saint-Henri, Montreal, QC, 2011. Photo by Fred Burrill.

One of capitalism’s most powerful myths is that of supply and demand. Take housing, for instance. We’re told by policymakers that the current desperate situation facing tenants in major Canadian cities is due to increased immigration: in the words of outgoing Quebec Premier François Legault, “In Montreal, we have exceeded our welcoming capacity.”

In a majority-tenant city experiencing the financial crunch of skyrocketing rents, framing the issue this way has obvious repercussions for the well-being and safety of migrants and other people of colour in Montreal. It also conveniently hides the fact that housing costs are the manifestation of structural power relations and not naturally occurring phenomena. In other words, housing is a terrain of struggle between those who own property and those who are forced to pay for the privilege of a roof over their heads. In the zero-sum game of capitalist urban planning, the space for working-class life shrinks as the space for profit-making is enlarged.

Activists in Montreal have been warning for decades that rising rents are the by-product of an active collaboration between developers, landlords, and municipal officials. When I interviewed long-time housing organizer Christina Xydous about opposing gentrification in the working-class neighbourhood of Saint-Henri back in the early 2000s, she argued for the need to look under the hood of supposedly consumer-driven urban transformations:

I see a lot of focus on, an anger against like, artists and students moving into a neighbourhood as like the stormtroopers of gentrification. And it’s not that that isn’t true. It’s that, it’s not quite so ephemeral a process. What they weren’t looking at, and I think what is the real driver of gentrification, for me, is the amount of money made available by all levels of government, including the city government, specifically for gentrifying the neighbourhood. This was a plan! This wasn’t a random, like, suddenly people thought Saint-Henri was cool. This was a concerted effort on the part of City officials and developers! They saw cheap land, large tracts of it, right? A lot of it available for the taking …. and the City made those funds available! They also made special funds available to property owners for renovating their dwellings, and giving them, like, much greater percentages of the overall cost of the renovation than you would get for any other area in the city. They were incentivizing in other words, renovate your homes, and that might sound good, especially when you consider how terrible the stock of housing was there, but the subsidies were that you had to live in the apartment, you weren’t, it wasn’t available for you if it was just a rental unit that you owned, you had to reside in the apartment to be able to access that surplus of subsidies, to renovate. So, you’re inciting them, you’re giving them, financial incentive, to take over those dwellings from people who were tenants! All of this was deliberate! None of this was happenstance![i]

Behind this vicious turn-of-the-century class war over urban space lay an even deeper transformation in ruling relations, as industrial capital abandoned inner-city North American neighbourhoods like Saint-Henri in order to give way to financialized real-estate interests. Working-class organizers fought this transition tooth and nail. When, in 1988, McGill University bought an abandoned plant on the formerly industrial Lachine Canal to convert into high-priced student housing, local grassroots organizations like the POPIR (Projet d’organisation populaire, d’information et de regroupement) and welfare rights group ODAS (Organisation d’aide aux sans-emplois) warned that Saint-Henri was going to become a “neighbourhood for sale,” and that converting industrial zones to residential would drive up land prices and make social development even more dependent on private capital.[ii] They were right – as major hedge funds poured billions into the Canal, property values in the neighbourhood increased by 117% between 1996 and 2006. In the same period, rents rose by almost 30%.[iii]

Despite all the hot air about the current “housing crisis,” then, it’s an inaccurate moniker for a situation designed and fostered to increase capitalist profit margins. Tapping into the history of working-class tenant struggle, further, should help us to see that there will be no straightforward policy solution to a problem that is essentially about capitalist consolidation of control over urban space. We will need to rely on own autonomous movements that seek to build counter-power and working-class capacity, taking back control over housing and all the means of reproducing life and community in less exploitative and destructive ways.

Fred Burrill is a long-time housing organizer in Montreal. He is also currently an Assistant Professor of Historical Studies at the University of New Brunswick. He is working on a book entitled Neighbourhood for Sale: History, Memory, and Struggle in the Remaking of Saint-Henri, Montreal. He can be reached by email or found on Bluesky.

Resources

  1. https://locataire.info/
  2. Talking Violence: Oral Histories of Displacement and Resistance in Saint-Henri
  3. High, Steven. Deindustrializing Montreal: Entangled Histories of Race, Residence, and Class. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2022.
  4. Gaudreau, Louis. Le promoteur, la banque et le rentier: fondements et évolution du logement capitaliste. Montréal: Lux éditeur, 2020.

[i] Christina Xydous, interviewed by Fred Burrill, 9 September 2018.

[ii] Jean-Pierre Wilsey, “NON à la fermeture de nos quartiers; pas de Schefferville dans le Sud-Ouest,” Vie ouvrière 29, 2 (August 1989): 24-26.

[iii] Louis Gaudreau, Marc-André Houle, and Gabriel Fauveaud, “L’action des promoteurs immobiliers dans le processus de gentrification du Sud-Ouest de Montréal,” Recherches sociographiques 62, no. 1 (2021): 121-147.

]]> https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/19/tenant-resistance-to-the-myth-of-supply-and-demand/feed/ 0 73800 Fascism and the Crises of Capitalism: A Tale of Two Crises https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/18/fascism-and-the-crises-of-capitalism-a-tale-of-two-crises/ https://activehistory.ca/blog/2026/03/18/fascism-and-the-crises-of-capitalism-a-tale-of-two-crises/#respond Wed, 18 Mar 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://activehistory.ca/?p=73821 Read more »]]> By Roberta Lexier

For early twentieth-century Marxists, fascism was, explains Alberto Toscano in his 2023 book, Late Fascism, “intimately linked to the prerequisites of capitalist domination.” 

“The instrument of the big bourgeoisie,” Robert O. Paxton suggests in The Anatomy of Fascism, its purpose: “for fighting the proletariat when the legal means available to the state proved insufficient to subdue them.”

“At times of economic or political crisis,” David Renton outlines in 2020’s Fascism: History and Theory, “hegemony alone is not enough. When millions of people start to question the ruling class, then something more than persuasive argument is needed.” Fascism, then, “seeks to maintain capitalist means of production… to sustain them without social conflict and it refuses to allow any opportunity for workers to organise against their employers.”

Hungarian economist, Karl Polanyi, concluded that it was “that revolutionary solution which keeps Capitalism untouched,” while Italian socialist, Antonio Gramsci, described it as “the attempt to resolve the problems of production and exchange with machine-guns and pistol-shots.” 

Nearly a hundred years later, it is clear that additional factors contributed to the rise of fascist politics, movements, and regimes preceding the Second World War, particularly in Germany: entrenched anti-Semitism, weak liberal democracy, unrestrained nationalist and imperialist ambitions, and the widespread normalization of violence, to name a few. But, as Richard J. Evans insists in The Coming of the Third Reich, “[e]ven the most diehard reactionary might eventually have learned to tolerate the [Weimar] Republic if it had provided a reasonable level of economic stability and a decent, solid income for its citizens.” “[P]eople,” he says, “began to grasp at political straws: anything, however extreme, seemed better than the hopeless mess they appeared to be in.”

After World War I, Stanley Payne outlines in A History of Fascism, 1914-1945, Germany faced a “concatenation of crises.” Demands for reparations from the defeated nation strained state revenues, justifying austerity measures that undercut promises “concerning social and economic improvements.” Germans, Adam Tooze suggests in his 2006, The Wages of Destruction, desired American-style consumerism and standards of living – stability and normality after years of upheaval – but unprecedented hyperinflation, disruptive technological change, the Great Depression, and mass unemployment left many struggling merely to survive. “The economic and social cohesion of the middle class,” Evans says, “was shattered, as winners and losers confronted one another across new social divides… Life seemed to be a game of chance, survival a matter of the arbitrary impact of incomprehensible economic forces.”

“A fascist politician,” Jason Stanley outlines in How Fascism Works: The Politics of Us and Them, “has no intention of addressing the root causes of economic hardship… The resentment that flows from unmet expectations,” he suggests, “can be redirected against minority groups seen as not sharing dominant traditions.”

When people’s “needs are urgent,” their very survival in question, “it’s not hard,” says Turkish journalist, Ece Temelkuran, in How to Lose a Country: The 7 Steps From Democracy to Fascism, “to convince them that instead of fighting for social equality it makes more sense to show loyalty to a political party in return for a daily loaf of bread and a few lumps of coal.”

Fascism, says Toscano, “advertises itself as the solution, the fix, to a comprehensive crisis of order,” a return to some mythological (and entirely fictitious) past where the deserving few could break free from the injustice inherent in unrestrained capitalism.

Recognizing that such movements are, as Stanley suggests, “most effective under conditions of stark economic inequality,” Western leaders after the Second World War embraced Keynesian Welfare State policies that ultimately led to widespread prosperity, “greatly eased social tensions,” says Payne, and “eliminated the more revolutionary kind of social appeal used by historic fascism.” If (almost) everyone has the stability and normality they desire, there is little impetus to turn to violence or division. Hegemony, not coercion, is largely sufficient to maintain order.

And, yet, over the past five decades, the neoliberal turn – the systematic dismantling of social safety nets and a return to so-called “free market” capitalism – has, once again, in Toscano’s words, “contributed to the flourishing of fascist potentials.”

Since at least the 2008/2009 global economic crash, large numbers of individuals are struggling to survive. Persistent inflation, without comparable wage growth, means incomes and savings are increasingly worthless, while technological changes, including automation and AI, threaten job security and lead to growing unemployment.

Economic inequality between the rich and the poor is greater than at any point since the Second World War. At the same time, global leaders refuse to address the accelerating climate emergency, leaving the masses to choke on wildfire smoke, perish in “heat domes,” and scramble to escape rising sea levels and drought conditions.

And, as Toscano argues, “capital is ever happy to rely on state violence to shore up the prerogatives of private property, and keen to boost any political entrepreneurs aligned with its particular accumulation strategies.”

Not unlike Germany a century ago, modern society is plagued by racism, Islamophobia, and transphobia. Violence and death are normalized through never-ending wars, mass shootings, and the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic.

The liberal democratic system is too weak, too subordinated to capitalist values and principles, to respond. Few, if any, are willing to acknowledge the root causes of these problems – unfettered capitalism – and, instead, actively promote radical solutions. Says Temelkuran: “after decades of being played, people no longer believe in a system in which one is deprived of the right to better one’s precarity… They are curing their precarity with hate.”

It is therefore imperative to confront the devastating realities of the capitalist system, the hardships it imposes on the masses, and the division it stokes to avoid scrutiny and ultimate collapse. It is the only way to halt the spread of global fascism – if it isn’t already too late.

Roberta Lexier is a professor of History at Mount Royal University.

This post is part of an activehistory.ca series “The Time of Monsters.” It looks at the challenges contemporary times pose to history and how historians can and have responded to it. Our aim is to highlight how history and historians can address matters such as denialism, the manipulation of public history, the appeal of authoritarianism and a host of other topics. The editors encourage submissions or personal reflections. If you are interested in contributing or even just finding out more about this series, please feel free to write to Andrew Nurse at anurse@mta.ca or Roberta Lexier at rlexier@mtroyal.ca. 

You can find the first post in the series here.

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