Panic at the Discourse

Reading Across Multiple Worlds: Empowerment and Empathy in Indigenous Futurisms Short Stories

Emily Gula

Biography | Notes

Keywords: Indigenous Futurisms, Science Fiction, Québécois Literature, Resistance, Empathy

Introduction:

As a literature of “cognitive estrangement,”^[1] science-fiction has the potential to motivate its readership to recognize the similarities and differences associated with a parallel universe and subsequently engage critically with the real world to make changes within it.^[2] The estrangement effect occurs when we confront a normative system with a novel point of view and establish new norms.^[3] In this regard, science-fiction provides a way of criticizing dominant ideology or deconstructing systemic issues though the reimagination of past, present, and future. However, as it stands, the ideas, themes, and motifs of traditional science-fiction are rooted in colonialism and imperialism: “these range from triumphal fantasies of appropriating land, power, sex, and treasure in tales of exploration and adventure, to nightmarish reversals of the positions of colonizer and colonized in tales of invasion and apocalypse.”^[4] Speculative futures such as “environmental devastation, species extinction, enslavement, plague, and genocide following in the wake of invasion by an alien civilization with vastly superior technology” are eerily reminiscent of the conditions Indigenous people faced when Europeans “discovered” their land.^[5] The imbrication of science-fiction and colonialism also manifests itself in its questionable depictions of “progress”, which seem to imply that traditional ways of life need to be “modernized” or “updated”.^[6]

           To challenge these harmful tropes, a recent movement in the science-fiction genre is Indigenous Futurisms. Devised by the Anishinaabe theorist Grace Dillon, Indigenous Futurisms reclaims the classical characteristics of science-fiction to create a more empowering future “by means of renewing, recovering, and enhancing the significance of voices and traditions that stem from First Nations.”^[7] It “asks us to reject these colonial ideas and instead re-imagine space, both outer and inner, from another perspective. One that makes room for stories that celebrate relationship and connection to community, coexistence, and sharing of land and technology, the honoring of caretakers and protectors.”^[8] In some cases, writers might imagine a more pessimistic future, which is often a cathartic choice to cope with lived trauma. The genre is composed of dichotomies, for we encounter a tension between tradition and contemporaneity, past and future, real and imaginary, as well as the positive and validating depiction of identity against a backdrop of violence and trauma.^[9]

           In reality, Indigenous people are currently living in a dystopia or an apocalypse, caught in a twisted world where colonizers occupy unceded territory, exploit natural resources, and leave environmental destruction in their wake.^[10] Indigenous people have endured the violent conquest of their land and the annihilation of their culture at the hands of a very real oppositional force, including but not limited to the Canadian government, the Catholic Church, non-Native settlers, and the complicity of all of the above. For this reason, Indigenous Futurisms is both an artistic and activist strategy that allows for the creation of a future that validates Native identity and tradition and criticizes the damaging effects of colonialism.

Literature as Resistance and Empathy

If, as Jo-Ann Episkenew indicates, “contemporary Indigenous literature serves a socio-pedagogical function as well as an aesthetic one”, this brings us to a central question regarding the presentation of speculative realities: who are these stories intended for?^[11] One can perhaps define an endogenous and exogenous reader, where the former refers to an “in-group” who brings a particular sensitivity and knowledge to their interpretation of the text, and the latter refers to an “out-group” who ordinarily requires guiding cues to understand its nuances.^[12] In the case of Indigenous Futurisms, we consider that Native readers belong to the “in-group” and non-Native readers belong to the “out-group.” As a result, we posit that Indigenous Futurisms may have two primary goals, depending on the readership it aims to target. Episkenew states, “because Indigenous writers are cognizant of their diverse audience, they have embedded a multiplicity of implied readers within the text of their narratives, so that each category of implied reader will understand the narrative somewhat differently, depending on their societal positionality.”^[13] She further suggests that Indigenous literature “enables settler readers to relate to Indigenous peoples on an emotional level thereby generating empathy” and promotes healing, education, and social change outside of the text.^[14] Essentially, reading and writing Indigenous stories have a primary goal of transformation and healing for Indigenous people, and doubly encourages the advancement of social justice initiatives among settlers.^[15]

           Firstly, if stories are intrinsically a form of resistance, literature allows for the creation of diegetic spaces where marginalized identities are valued and offers a voice to people historically reduced to silence, especially when it comes to stories written by people belonging to those same communities. The opportunity to write one’s own stories challenges the historical myth propagated by colonizers, and by virtue of the richness of stories founded in Indigenous culture and experiences, First Nations may resist being forgotten or erased.^[16] Incorporating traumas, hopes, and desires into an imaginary space is a step towards healing for the individual and their collectivity, and it is also a tool of empowerment to combat oppressive forces and policies.

           Secondly, stories have often served as a conduit for empathy. The understanding of fictional universes and the characters who inhabit them require that readers mentally project themselves into unfamiliar minds and experiences: “transportation into a narrative can help us learn to empathize with types of individuals with whom we have no personal experience. For this reason, literature may be helpful for reducing bias against outgroup members.”^[17] With a focus on Islam-based texts and representation, Masood Ashraf Raja conceptualizes the idea of the “democratic reader,” whereby readers may learn to “read in an empathetic mode, to put [them]selves in the metaphorical shoes of the Other, and then read the text from the socially constructed expectations [of the Other].”^[18] Applied to Indigenous Futurisms, non-Native readers should therefore learn to read outside of their own preconceived ideas and limited knowledge to engage with these texts more carefully. This mental projection may also help non-Native readers recognize their complicity in colonization.

           Empathizing and feeling emotion with characters may be related to the degree of immersion that readers experience.^[19] The more a reader is projected into the fictional universe, the greater connection they may forge with its characters, content, and themes. The characteristics of the science-fiction genre provide a framework within which we can explore this phenomenon, since speculative realities create a sense of defamiliarization as they challenge expectations readers have about the world outside the text. In the case of Indigenous Futurisms, high levels of transportation achieved through world-building and affective details may lead to a better understanding of the indignities and injustices faced by Native populations in Québec and in Canada as a whole, while also validating the experiences of those directly touched by colonization.

           To show the dual empowering and empathetic functions of Indigenous Futurisms, or the notions of “healing” and “advancing social justice” denoted by Jo-Ann Episkenew in Taking Back Our Spirits, we will draw on examples from the first collection consecrated to l’anticipation genre published in Québec. Directed by Innu writer Michel Jean, Wapke (2021) is an anthology of short stories that reimagine the near and far future, featuring more than a dozen Indigenous writers and a wide range of perspectives. Compared to works of Indigenous literature recognized in the Anglophone sphere, it appears that French-speaking Native writers are less known and studied, often forgotten or neglected by academic institutions.^[20] This article brings greater recognition to Indigenous Futurisms written in French and presents these works to a broader audience, notably that of English-speaking Canada. In particular, we will focus on the stories “La hache et le glaive” (“The Axe and the Broadsword”) by Wendat author Louis-Karl Picard-Sioui; “Le quatrième monde” (“The Fourth World”) by Wendat author Isabelle Picard; and, “Kanatabe Ishkueu” (“Kanatabe Ishkueu”) by Innu author Natasha Kanapé-Fontaine.^[21] Each of these stories depicts a world overtaken by colonial forces and subsequently made anew through Indigenous survivance. They favour the resistance and empowerment of autochtone (Native) readers, while simultaneously appealing to allochtone (non-Native) audiences.

World-building as a Mode of Resistance

A concept coined by the Anishinaabe scholar Gerald Vizenor, “survivance” is a neologism combining “survival” and “resistance” that “illustrates the resilience of First Nations and affirms an intemporal identity.”^[22] Since colonialism is a rupture in temporality, this opens the gateway for speculative work in which “time is ductile, simultaneous, or simply put, non-referenced” in order to create “more viable futures” for First Nations people.^[23] In science-fiction, plural temporalities allow subjects to live in a timeline other than one imposed by colonial systems.^[24] By refusing “the standardized, normative, and linear temporality of colonial domination and capitalist expansion”, Indigenous Futurisms takes a unique approach to the very nature of telling time. ^[25] Because “the central struggles of Indigenous culture” operate on past, present, and future planes,^[26] Indigenous Futurisms is not solely limited to the exploration of possible futures but also “engage[s] in critiques of the present by speculating on existing realities and on past timelines that were interrupted but that may yet be completed.”^[27] Through world-building details, each of the stories we analyze challenges the idea of colonial-based temporality by providing alternative outcomes that favour Indigenous survivance.

           “La hache et le glaive” plays significantly on the idea of multiple chronologies as a means of rewriting a painful history. Central to the story is a machine invented by a future civilization called “le Système Temporel de Reconnaissance, de Navigation et de Déplacement Universels” (Temporal System of Universal Recognition, Navigation, and Displacement)^[28], which the heroine Yahndawara’ refers to as “la Strendu” (named after a cannibal giant in Wendat folklore). The technology permits travel within and across space and time, but “in malevolent hands, the system could cause enough paradoxes and anomalies to rip apart the web of reality itself and permanently destroy the sacred circle of existence.”^[29] Ultimately, the universe fell to shambles after a group of religious fanatics known as “le Glaive universel” seized control of la Strendu to rid of the world of so-called infidels, while condemning every temporality in the process.^[30] This future event committed by the Glaive led to the invasion and subsequent annihilation of Yahndawara’’s city, her parents, and her clan, which mirrors the series of tragedies that followed the arrival of European settlers.^[31]

           As expressed by Paula Gunn Allen, cyclical or circular organization of time is central to Indigenous beliefs and resists the Western idea of temporality as a fixed, linear system.^[32] In contrast with the colonial idea of one sole outcome for the end of the world, traditional histories often depict the birth and rebirth of multiple worlds.^[33] In their mission, the Glaive attempts to impose a singular vision of history on all of humanity and disrupt the natural order through the manipulation of time. As such, their use of la Strendu becomes particularly dangerous because they wield the power to shatter the Indigenous concept of temporality and erase their victims from existence. However, the mere presence of time-altering technology also incites hope, since it can be used to fight back against the oppressors: “[Yahndawara’] knew that, somewhere, in another temporal thread, the city had not been contaminated by the Glaive’s ideas. Somewhere, in the fields of unending possibilities, the tree would continue to grow and prosper.”^[34] By this logic, we recognize the possibility of a history where colonization did not occur.

           It is interesting to note that despite the gashes tearing through the temporality of her universe, Yahndawara’ is not touched by time herself: “Yahndawara’ remained just as young and fresh that she had been in [the general’s] memory.”^[35] Although the white-dominated Glaive seeks to master the past and future, it is Yahndawara’ who escapes from the aging effect of time. In this way, she can persist even as the world is twisting and distorting around her, whereas the group who seeks to command time cannot truly do so. This shows that the natural order of the world favours the rightful occupants of the land, Yahndawara’ and her people, and resists the whims of the colonizers. Yahndawara’ warns her opponents that they will never be able to properly use la Strendu without a guide, unlike her and her allies who relied on the mystical figure “le Sorcier” to “detect the destination of passages” before his untimely demise.^[36] The recklessness of the Glaive is measured against the resistance’s more careful and respectful manner of dealing with la Strendu and its potential hazards. The striking difference in attitudes depicted in Picard-Sioui’s story may reflect the variations of temporal perception in Native versus non-Native ways of thinking, as well as the colonial desire to impose on the natural order, regardless of the consequences.

           Armed with a desire for retribution, Yahndawara’ makes the ultimate sacrifice by blowing up la Strendu while she and the Glaive remain inside the laboratory. She resigns herself to death to “put an end to the ignoble project of these men of faith. To save her own from premature death.”^[37] However, the end of the story leaves the reader with hope that destroying la Strendu will save the world from ruin: “Elsewhere, in another place, another era, a mythical hero once again met a young sorcerer for the first time, in the hopes this one would be the right one. That they could, together, reconcile time.”^[38] Yahndawara’’s sacrifice is an act of resistance and courage that will prevent further suffering of her loved ones by destroying the timeline where the Glaive’s ideology could take root. In this case, it makes way for an alternate universe where Yahndawara’ did not have to sacrifice herself to save her clan, and the elimination of the Glaive succeeded in undoing the devastating impact of colonization in every temporality. This demonstrates a compelling example of how temporal world-building in Indigenous Futurisms resists the colonial view of time that promises “progress” while destroying the past.

           Similarly, “Le quatrième monde” challenges the existence of only one universe and its apocalyptic finality:

In the dystopia described in Picard’s story, the government has imposed a law of neutrality to prohibit the diversity of culture, religion, tradition, and language, allegedly as “a social project aiming to re-establish peace, balance, and harmony.”^[40] The consequences of this actualize a state in which the citizens lose “all that defines us as human beings”, thus leading to a complete elimination of individuality.^[41] As a result, the appearance of blue stars becomes a visible sign of hope for the oppressed. They can look towards a future where neutrality is no longer imposed and reclaim the culture that was snuffed out. The rebirth of the fourth world promises the possibility of a new spatial and temporal plane where the oppressive forces no longer have power over their victims.

           The Native character Elsie lives in a multitude of overlapping timelines: she assumes a traditional way of life, actively combats the status quo, and shares her hopes for a better tomorrow. In the story, many houses were flooded in the aftermath of a climactic disaster, so the people of the village “had been rehoused one hour away by foot, in small, identical, and colourless cabins” which “came straight out of a period of obligatory colonization and settlement that her people never accepted even after many years.”^[42] On the other hand, Elsie manages to avoid the forced displacement: “Her home was now the forest, and she would never swap the secret of the trees for the habitations built in perfect agreement but lacking soul.”^[43] Instead of accepting the living conditions imposed by someone else, Elsie finds contentment in nature, and despite her isolation, she feels at home among the flora and fauna. In this way, she fights against assimilation and pushes to maintain her individuality in a world that wants to destroy it. Moreover, when neutral agents confiscate Elsie’s mukluks, she declares that “she would fabricate others, as many times as necessary.”^[44] This mental promise demonstrates her resilience, even more so because she risks punishment for her non-conformity. In the end, the destruction of a physical object connected to her culture proves useless, for the knowledge Elsie possesses runs much deeper. Her ability to perpetuate her traditional knowledges and practices even while the party in power tries to snuff them out is a form of resistance. One small act at a time, Elsie resists the oppressive status quo, proving she will not be erased or controlled by those who erroneously believe they are on the right side of history. At one point, Elsie describes the feeling of both belonging and unbelonging all at once: “She always thought she wasn’t born in the right time, a bit like if she came from another century. Despite this, secretly, she wouldn’t have wanted to live at another time, maybe because she believed in some way that she would contribute to changing things, in her way.”^[45] Although she clearly feels the impact of colonization and the way it shakes up her concept of time, hope is imbricated in her internal monologue as she works toward bettering the world for the sake of all humanity.

           In a similar vein to the stories discussed above, the world-building in “Kanatabe Ishkueu” demonstrates collective strength and the persistence of tradition. The story opens with a summary of Earth’s losing battle to climate change and its eventual succumbence to a lengthy Ice Age. The protagonist, Kani, wakes in a strange yet familiar location, ultimately discovering a hidden clan of survivors she read about in a book. It is interesting to note that the relevant legends are recorded in a physical book so only the right people will have access to the information and guarantee that “the transmission of knowledge will occur.”^[46] In other words, those who have abandoned the ancient models will never access the promised land because they have dismissed the old ways in favour of new technology, while those who embrace traditional knowledge will be rewarded for resisting the rapidly changing world that denies it.

           In the end, the technology and infrastructure introduced by colonizers do not prove useful to surviving the apocalypse. Although artificial intelligence and human scientists make a feeble attempt to combat climate change, Kani acknowledges the shortcomings of the supposedly omniscient technology of her world: 

Although the Innu people embraced the gift of technology, it ultimately showed its limitations, powerless against the will of nature. It also could not prevent the erasure of their language, a by-gone consequence of colonization. This sobering detail embedded in a generally hopeful depiction of the future reminds readers that some types of destruction cannot be undone. As a whole, technology failed to achieve the improvements it promised, whereas the hidden clan survived the climate apocalypse through traditional knowledge and understanding. In short, they surpassed the technology deemed superior and resisted the pressures of societal transformation to create a future inspired by the past.

           Kanapé-Fontaine’s story also reimagines the political climate in a way that favours Indigenous empowerment. For example, “Canada and Québec, like other States of the world, were renamed, either by reclaiming a name derived from one of the territory’s Indigenous languages, or by returning to the root of their name.”^[48] The political situation in the before-world shifted to better support the rights of Indigenous people, and Kani explains:

It appears that prior to the climate disaster, Kani’s world was actively working towards land reoccupation and decolonization. The fact that Kani ultimately discovers a land void of colonizers is symbolic; an established safe space that resists both environmental and cultural destruction. The hidden clan reclaimed its strongest elements and applied them to a new space where their traditions and beliefs could better be expressed and validated, without the need for government intervention.

           Lastly, in “Kanatabe Ishkueu”, we are told about a number of mythical gifts granted to the First Nations people. The elders were given the ability to see the other side of existence, invisible to most humans and man-made beings, and “the most ancient ancestors used this invisible membrane long ago as protection against the dangers of civilisation.”^[50] This recognizes how colonization’s desire for “improvement” poses the greatest threat to the world, and how this innate sense kept the ancestors safe from harm. In addition, the story states that all the Nations possess a gift of telepathy to communicate with each other, but in Kani’s exterior world, they are impeded from utilizing it, compared to the closed, secret village where the gift is used freely. The narrative shares that non-Native people in Kani’s world were threatened by this supernatural gift and showed distrust towards those who used it, resulting in a total ban. In the new world, the villagers can access their granted ability without imposed limits. In other words, this sacred space is one untouched by colonial law so that traditional knowledge may persist in its stead.

Establishing Empathy and Community

The above examples of world-building do not limit empowerment and resistance to Indigenous readers, and also demonstrate how the fight against colonialism and its devastating effects can benefit all of humanity. Another way of moving readers occurs through the affective details integrated in narrative. Here, we discuss how different readers may react to these works of Indigenous Futurisms in empathy and in solidarity. Suzanne Keen proposes three categories of strategic empathizing, each referring to how authors try to solicit empathy within a selected readership. For example, “bounded strategic empathy” aims to connect members of an in-group through mutual and familiar experiences, “ambassadorial strategic empathy” motivates others to feel empathy for the in-group, often for specific purposes, and “broadcast strategic empathy” targets all readers “by emphasizing our common vulnerabilities and hope.”^[51] For a Native audience, empathetic projection may validate pain and suffering, justify complex feelings, and provide empowerment through the representation of lived experiences and emotions. For a non-Native audience, authorial empathy may challenge ignorance and indifference or encourage a greater understanding of social realities. Indigenous Futurisms takes into consideration the importance of evoking feeling in multiple possible readerships.

           “La hache et le glaive” is interspersed with descriptions of powerful emotions. In the opening scene, the reader is immediately put in a position where they are called to feel for the protagonist: “In the darkness of the laboratory, Yahndawara’ rocked herself in a slow rhythm. To reassure herself, to allow herself to ignore, even for an instant, the emptiness that devoured her inside. To contain every moment of mourning that accumulated over the days and years.”^[52] As she observes her face in the window, her pain is reflected in her physical appearance: “Her exhausted features were distressed with pain, filled with a sorrow more profound than time itself. She did not recognize herself.”^[53] Yahndawara’ and her community have been so profoundly wounded and disturbed by the actions of the Glaive that it changes how she views herself and the world. Readers more sensitive to her condition, such as those who have experienced similar trauma, would understand her expression of grief differently from someone who has not.

           Later, in a conversation where Yahndawara’ witnesses her twin brother’s emotional distress, her sadness transforms into righteous anger: “Fury invaded her being.”^[54] Justified anger often paves the way for action, and her emotions play an important role in her defiance of the enemy’s leader: “Your ignorance is clear. How extremely ironic, coming from a cult general who claims to own the copyright of Truth.”^[55] When she chooses to sacrifice herself, she has nothing more to lose, but much more to gain if the villains are destroyed. In Yahndawara’’s case, her emotions extend far beyond the self. References to her brother and her lover throughout the narrative provide examples of close personal relationships that can be recognized and understood even by outsiders. Even if a non-Native reader cannot understand the feeling of having their culture destroyed by government and society, they could certainly be compelled to empathize with the desire for a loved one’s well-being.

           The close first-person narration in “Kanatabe Ishkueu” allows for an intimate experience of Kani’s emotions. The sensations of nature and the scent of the musk ox’s pelt prod at Kani, drawing out fragments of forgotten memories: “I see my mushum busying himself in the tent. I am a small child. He hums something. He turns to me and hands me a piece of food.”^[56] Through the poignant senses from the past, Kani realizes she has fulfilled her quest to find the mythical space described in the legends of her childhood. This incites an emotional reaction within her: “Tears flow from my eyes. The elders of my people recounted many things about the hidden clan, their wood houses, composed of tree branches and bark, about the roofs slated with furs and thick skins, and about their clothes made of the same materials […] Who, in the years 2100, still lived this way, with all that technology allowed?”^[57] “Kanatabe Ishkueu” succeeds in representing the overwhelming sense of belonging Kani feels when she comes across the hidden clan. In face of the disasters plaguing her external world, Kani finds comfort in recovering the beliefs and traditions of her ancestors.

           The personal way in which the Indigenous characters reflect on their traditional beliefs and knowledge, as well as their individual and collective traumas, cannot fully be understood by a non-Native audience. In addition, readers should be aware of “passive empathy”, which describes the phenomenon of feeling for a subject without taking action or assuming responsibility: “so far as we feel sympathy, we feel we are not accomplices to what caused the suffering. Our sympathy proclaims our innocence as well as our impotence.”^[58] To avoid absolution and indifference, especially when engaging with depictions of colonization and oppression in fiction, Megan Boler proposes instead the process of “testimonial reading.” This requires self-reflection on the part of the reader to acknowledge their “relative position of power by virtue of the safe distance of reading” as well as the necessity of challenging their own assumptions and world views.^[59] In the context of Indigenous Futurisms, this means that non-Native readers have a greater responsibility to recognize the limits of their knowledge and experience. They might be able to imaginatively project themselves into the text and feel the emotions of the characters because the empathetic process allows for the recognition of suffering, loss, or trauma despite not living out the exact circumstances described in the text; however, they must also realize these emotions are not truly equivalent due to significant historical differences and the specificity of the represented trauma.^[60] In fiction, the reader simulates the mind of another, but due to “self-other differentiation”, they do not read separately from their identity outside of the text, no matter how deeply engaged they are in the narrative emotions.^[61] Non-Native readers should still allow themselves to be transported into the speculative universes and the cultural representations embedded in Indigenous Futurisms, while simultaneously accepting that their perceptions may differ vastly from a Native readership. In some ways, empathy permits the acknowledgement of pain so the reader comes to understand how they may help alleviate it.

           “La hache et le glaive” makes an interesting narrative choice by including the third-person limited perspective of the villain, the General Providence. With access to his thoughts, the reader becomes privy to the way he justifies the cruelty of his actions: “Soon, he could recover what was his. He could correct the past. And soon, yes, soon, he would deliver this word to Our-Father-All-Powerful.”^[62] Given his army’s primary motivation is to propagate religious hegemony, the Glaive is naturally a metaphor for Christianity and its significant role in Indigenous assimilation. Although the General uses dehumanizing language when describing the heroine, his internalization also characterizes Yahndawara’ in a positive light: “Providence could not stop himself from experiencing a certain admiration for the savage. True, in his eyes, she was but a heathen. However, her faith was unwavering. Her loyalty, exemplary. Her determination, of iron.”^[63] He is on the verge of recognizing Yahndawara’’s humanity but fails to do so because he lets his ideology consume him. Even through his lens of hate, he cannot deny her strength of character, and this leads the reader to develop an even greater sense of appreciation for the protagonist. Moreover, the purpose of this point-of-view may give insight into the General’s human qualities, recognizing that people in real life have flaws, biases, and therefore can possess traits of negative valence. In particular, this mind-reading opportunity proves one does not need to be a supervillain to rain destruction on Indigenous communities, and that even people who consider themselves righteous or moral also propagate or profit from colonization.

           As discussed by Jo-Ann Episkinew, Indigenous literature is meant to be “relationship-oriented” and “inclusive” and “repairs the rifts in communities.”^[64] Indigenous survivance depends on attachments and kinship to attain deliverance from colonial occupation.^[65] Therefore, building interpersonal relationships and solidarities falls in line with the definition of resistance, as most battles cannot be won without collaboration. The stories we discuss demonstrate strength and understanding within Indigenous communities in addition to the rich connections forged with outsiders, or non-Native characters. For example, in Picard-Sioui’s story, Yahndawara’’s individual sacrifice is the key for saving the collectivity, but she also draws strength from a sense of belonging. Simply put, her community enhances her power to defeat her opponents because she knows that like-minded others are on her side. At the beginning of the narrative, she chants in her mother tongue to relieve herself of anxiety and fear, so her roots are clearly an important factor in her eventual heroism. Because she is comfortable in her own skin, this gives her the zeal to act, regardless of the difficulty and danger of her circumstances. Her confidence arises from her cultural identity, which grants her the courage to both resist her enemies and criticize them for their vile behaviour.

           Community plays a role in the fight against climate change in “Kanatabe Ishkueu.” To survive the new environmental condition, a group of Indigenous people have managed to create protective spaces for the security and well-being of humanity: “For twenty years, the Kanatabe, following the ancestral knowledge of the Indigenous peoples of their territory, undertook the construction of numerous giant infrastructures above the cities and metropolis so that the extreme cold and snow did not come to disrupt human life and the rest of the living creatures.”^[66] They also join forces with African countries, who have reclaimed their natural resources from European colonizers and propose a method of preserving tropical vegetation. Resisting colonization does not exclude Indigenous folk from other continents nor non-Natives of Turtle Island, but rather, calls for other members of society to join hands in improving the living conditions of the world. As previously noted, Kanapé-Fontaine also shows how Kani experiences genuine connection when she discovers the hidden clan. The boy she meets upon arrival, Kanukateu, suggests that knowledge equals power. After listening to her stories in awe, he tells her, “You know so many things. You are clearly a person of great intelligence. I admire your voice. Your allegiance to your country has clearly defined foundations. You are a warrior for your clan…”^[67] His evaluation of Kani is anchored in the idea that traditional knowledge is a tool that Native people can rely on to assure their survivance. Although Kani belongs to a futuristic world and Kanukateu belongs to a traditional one, they educate each other about the history of their people in their separate spaces and validate the importance of ancestral knowledge in both worlds.

           In “Le quatrième monde,” the inclusion of the point-of-view character Ilda Ivanovitch, a Russian shopkeeper, provides a model of how non-Native readers can join the resistance against colonialism and establish harmony across cultural communities. When “neutral agents” accuse Ilda of having “non-neutral cultural objects” in her possession, the Native character Elsie intervenes to protect her.^[68] By redirecting the agents’ attention to her “unlawful” mukluks, Elsie becomes their new target, and Ilda evades punishment. Despite the risk to her own well-being, Elsie deems it more important to defend someone in trouble. The two women strike an arrangement where Ilda agrees to lend Elsie a pair of broken-in boots to suit the long treks she takes in the forest she calls home. This benefits both parties, as Elsie is more comfortable in soft footwear, and Ilda can save her newer boots for other customers. Following this event, Ilda invites Elsie to dine together. The former prepares a meal from her home country, and “seeing that the woman was somewhat ankylosed by the wine and because it was late, Elsie proposed to serve the bird’s milk [ptichye moloko, a Russian dessert].”^[69] This dinner provides an opportunity for them to make a reciprocal exchange of service. During their dinner, Ilda describes her feeling of ostracization: “When I was young, when I left Russia, before coming here I lived in Paris for a few years, then in Italy. But there, in Europe, it was hard for us, foreigners. In the end, I wasn’t safe anymore, so I came to Canada.”^[70] This parallels Elsie’s feeling of unbelonging, which becomes another shared experience where Ilda and Elsie can find solace in each other. Overall, it is clear they each respect the other’s way of living and can share both their individual knowledge and their similar life experiences. Lastly, the narrative reveals Elsie’s affiliation with a group of rebels who resist the erasure of culture and identity, which we learn Ilda’s son is also part of. Elsie keeps an eye on Ilda for her son’s sake, displaying care in a way she would if Ilda were her own family. Even though they belong to different cultural groups, compassion and solidarity bloom between the two women. In this way, the capacity to empathize with the “other” becomes a mode of resistance to defeat the common enemy, such as policies that seek to divide.

Conclusion

According to Daniel Heath Justice, “words themselves matter, but so do the purposes to which they are directed.”^[71] Both empowerment and empathy are implicated in the Indigenous Futurisms short stories we have discussed, and they may promote resistance, healing, and understanding in different readerships. The rebirth of Indigenous literature in Québec is a social and cultural movement that seeks to draw attention to the effects of colonization with the ultimate goal of centering Indigenous perspectives and realizing a more humane and decolonized world.^[72] Through Indigenous Futurisms, a genre of reimagination and reconstruction, writers reclaim ideas in science-fiction that promote a colonial agenda, like the discovery of new planets, the dehumanizing treatment of lifeforms already occupying them, and the forceful integration of so-called superior technology. It is possible, then, to reinvent the imperfections and injustices of the real world and construct an alternative vision where victims become the vanquishers, or rather, where those oppressed by social systems can take back power and autonomy. However, even within these modes of resistance, Indigenous Futurisms favours healing for Native and non-Native audiences alike: “Indigenous literature reaches out to settler communities to advance social justice, to heal the wounds of oppression, and to reconcile our communities.”^[73] Rather than completely eliminating the existence of white settlers, these stories seek to destroy the white power structures that resist diversity and exert dominance at the detriment of other living things.^[74] As a whole, the feeling of estrangement incited by Indigenous Futurisms encourages us to discern the flaws and disasters of our troubling reality in anticipation of changing – and especially improving – the norms. Literature becomes a place where writers and readers from a multitude of communities may interrogate trauma tied to the past and present, all while taking significant steps towards decolonizing the future.

Notes