Critical Assessment of Gillian Poulter’s Becoming Native in a Foreign Land: Sport, Visual Culture, and Identity in Montreal, 1840-85.

Gillian Poulter’s analysis of transitions in Canadian identity through representation of sport in art and photography provides a theoretical, intersectional, treatment of the formations of a hybrid identity among middle-class English Canadians in the nineteenth century “contact zone” of Montreal.[1] Poulter treats visual images as “enactments of discourses” to argue that British settlers created and reinforced a Canadian identity for themselves by appropriating and performing Indigenous sports.[2] Her analysis positions sport as both a unifying and a fracturing force.[3] For Poulter, identity is not simply ideological or intellectual, but something which must be embodied through cultural practices.[4] Thus, performance is a recurring theme in her work, while she also grapples with the somewhat slippery concept of intentionality. While some of Poulter’s theoretical assumptions may lead readers to discredit her work, she offers discussions of gender and class that are valuable to even the less theoretically-inclined reader, and her analyses of masculinity are particularly strong.

The potential ambiguities over intentionality in Poulter’s work are perhaps a shortcoming of this monograph. Poulter notes that the subjects of her work did not necessarily self-consciously work to indigenize themselves through appropriating sporting activities and other markers of Indigenous culture, instead, their subtle, systemic application of discursive practices acted as “an invasion from within.”[5] Poulter refers frequently to the symbolism which one can read in this contact zone, describing lacrosse games, for example, as “symbolic reenactments” of the humiliation of Conquest, for the British to re-live the triumph of winning.[6] Some representations by British settlers of themselves as masculine and indigenous, and of Indigenous peoples as uncivilized and feminized, may have been purposeful. At times, however, it seems that Poulter reads a symbolic colonial performance into situations which may be less theoretically complex.

Poulter follows a trend among twenty-first century historians of focusing on everyday people, rather than those who are elite or otherwise exceptional. Her emphasis on theory is also not anomalous for the field; consider, for example, Contact Zones: Aboriginal and Settler Women in Canada’s Colonial Past, an edited collection by Myra Rutherdale and Katie Pickles, which offers many theoretical treatments of such cultural junctions.[7] The more unusual aspect of Poulter’s work is in her particularly detailed analysis of visual images. Poulter considers in depth an array of sketches, paintings, and photographs, particularly the work of photographer William Notman. She intends for her analyses of these images to serve as a model for other historians wishing for a sophisticated way in which to use visual images as primary sources.[8]

It is in her use of photography, unfortunately, that Poulter’s assertion, that cultural appropriation and the production of hierarchies were often unintentional, goes somewhat awry. As she points out, Notman’s photographs were carefully staged, though made to appear as candid shots rather than portraits.[9] Notman’s series of photographs of hunting in Canada positioned people so as to convey racial hierarchies, while indigenizing his British subjects to portray them as comfortable in a wilderness environment.[10] It is clear from Poulter’s own description of Notman’s photographic style that his work was especially intentional and performative. This would not be problematic were it not for Poulter’s neglect to inform her reader as to which actions and images were intentional on the part of the sportsmen and artists, and which were subconscious, possibly manifestations of hegemony.

A particularly fascinating element of Poulter’s monograph is the intersection she notes between physical space and performance. To Poulter, particular locations served as metaphorical theatres in which British settlers acted out their new roles as “indigenous” Canadians. For example, Montreal’s Mount Royal and French-Canadian farms just outside the city were the sets for settlers, mostly men, to re-enact the fur trade, “dressing up as ‘composite natives’” to snowshoe across these landscapes in “cultural performances.”[11] These settlers created costumes for themselves, and fashioned the landscape into theatrical sets. This is where Poulter argues that such performances were not necessarily intentionally designed, but a subconscious act. Despite their attempts to create “authenticity” in their leisure, the snowshoers were unlikely to have understood their acts as performances of faux-indigeneity, masculinity, and middle-class identity.[12] To Poulter, even the lacrosse field was spatially relevant, dividing a nation of spectators along class, race, and gender lines.[13]

Poulter’s discussions of the construction of masculinity through sport is one of the strongest points of her work, although I would hazard that this strain of analysis is not particularly unusual among recent sport historians. In his photographs, the ironically-named William Notman portrayed hunting as a masculine pursuit, linked with men’s power over women; nationhood was thus the preserve of men.[14] Poulter argues that obtaining hunting trophies was a display of male sexuality.[15] This thread of symbolism was unlikely intentional on the part of the hunters themselves, but is a recurring motif in discussions of hunting and masculinity.[16] Poulter elucidates the often-paradoxical binaries that informed and enhanced constructions of masculinity in the Victorian era. For example, for lacrosse players, white masculinity acted as a superior contrast to inferior “Indian” masculinity. Euro-Canadian critics simultaneously portrayed Native lacrosse players as unfairly skilled and too violent, and as effeminate and weak.[17]

Structurally, Poulter’s individual chapters read as though they could be stand-alone articles, and at times they do not speak to one another. Her chapter on the Northwest Rebellion seems quite out of place, as the links between war and sport are not as tight as the links between the various sports portrayed in her other chapters. This is not to say that this chapter does not make significant conclusions, as her analysis of artwork provides a seldom-seen perspective of the Rebellions. The thrust of this chapter is an analysis of visual imagery, and sport is sidelined with only limited discussion of a link between sport and military as training and spectacle to legitimize her use of this chapter, and a note that sports clubs actively celebrated the end of the Rebellion.[18] Ultimately, following this interlude from her discussion of particular sports, Poulter pulls the monograph together with a discussion of the development of national identity, providing a broader thematic link in addition to her more specific conclusions about appropriation and performance.

Ultimately, Poulter advocates a re-periodization of Canadian sport history, which could be a potentially valuable, if rather niche, undertaking.[19] This suggestion becomes problematic, however, with her contention that this new periodization would situate the beginning of Canadian sport history in 1840, rather than 1807. Oddly, given the sensitive treatment elsewhere in the monograph, this makes Indigenous sport history into an invisible part of an apparently pre-Canadian past, positioning Indigenous peoples, as well as French-Canadians, as other than Canadian. This erasure is also apparent in her decision to subtitle her fifth chapter “Canada’s First War.” Poulter’s theoretical aims are valid and significant, and her use of visual sources is somewhat out of the ordinary. Her discussions of race, class, and gender are often, though not consistently, solidly intersectional. Theoretically, her work is yet another example of analyses of performativity and embodiment to effect colonial appropriation; I would judge it as being not particularly novel in this regard. What distinguishes her work is certainly her extensive use of visual sources as the main thrust of her primary evidence and her use of these sources to analyze class and masculinity. The overall empirical contribution of her work, however, is somewhat mitigated by oversights such as inconsistencies in intentionality and the re-marginalization of Indigenous peoples.

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[1] Gillian Poulter, Becoming Native in a Foreign Land: Sport, Visual Culture, and Identity in Montreal, 1840-85 (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2009), 19.

[2] Poulter, 14.

[3] Poulter, 275.

[4] Poulter, 5.

[5] Poulter, 13.

[6] Poulter, 144.

[7] Katie Pickles and Myra Rutherdale, eds., Contact Zones: Aboriginal and Settler Women in Canada’s Colonial Past (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2005).

[8] Poulter, 14.

[9] Poulter, 66.

[10] Poulter, 101, 104-105.

[11] Poulter, 43, 48, 31, 33.

[12] Poulter, 63.

[13] Poulter, 149.

[14] Poulter, 111, 66.

[15] Poulter, 111.

[16] For a discussion of the gendered implications of hunting, see Carol J. Adams, The Sexual Politics of Meat: A Feminist-Vegetarian Critical Theory, 20th Anniversary Edition (New York: Continuum, 2010), 146.

[17] Poulter, 145-148.

[18] Poulter, 210, 207.

[19] Poulter, 270.

Trying to step up my game with Fyson and Greer

Last week, Jack asked that I go into more detail in my next response. So this one is twice as long. I hope that, unlike last week, I haven't entirely missed the point of the texts I am analyzing! Fortunately these two are in English and were thus far more accessible. I am highly considering removing the French-language texts from my field list, to preserve my sanity and give myself a fighting chance of succeeding. 

Greer: The Patriots and the People

Fyson: Magistrates, Police and People

These two works both reconceptualize the interactions between the state and the ordinary people in Lower Canada in the early nineteenth century. Fyson explores the importance of the experiences of the general public in accessing justice, while Greer examines the actions of the masses in the 1837-8 Rebellions. Fyson and Greer base their research on large bodies of official sources that portray non-notable people of various walks of life, although they use these sources to somewhat different analytical ends. Greer’s main goal is to reconstruct the Rebellions from a bottom-up perspective, demonstrating the agency of habitants in the Rebellion. Fyson aims to refute a model of rupture and stasis that other historians have used to understand changes in the justice system, and state structures more broadly, between the Conquest and Rebellions. Fyson’s ultimate goal is to indicate a need for a new periodization of the state in Lower Canada, premised on a fluid rather than rigid criminal justice system that experienced substantial but diverse and unequal changes.[1] From these texts, we can see that the state in Lower Canada was shaped as much by the habitants or Canadiens than by the British authorities; both historians draw out class as an important factor in determining one’s relationship with the state and its infrastructure, portraying class as more important than ethnicity, contrary to beliefs of various other historians who portrayed state-society interactions as characterized by ethnic conflict.

Structurally, Fyson’s work is organized thematically, though with some chronological movement through individual chapters. Greer’s structure is similar to his later Mohawk Saint, examining particular themes through a narrative of the Rebellions. This structure makes Greer’s text more accessible to a non-specialist, and I do not feel that he loses analytical power by engaging with a narrative. For a student working through readings for comprehensive exams, Greer’s structure is more engaging, while Fyson’s often feels like witnessing the progressive flogging of a dead horse, as he travels down a spiral of the various elements of the justice system that could oppose his argument. This is not to say that it isn’t analytically a strong work; only that, despite his use of quite clear hooks at the end of each subsection and chapter, it is tempting to put his text down and stop; that wasn’t a concern of mine with Greer’s work. Another particular concern I had with Fyson’s work was his frequent argument that if one thing occurred—for example, if Canadiens used the justice system—that another thing—the legitimacy of the justice system, to follow the previous example—must have been true. While his final arguments may well be right, the logic he uses to make these arguments does not, to me, seem solid. Greer, on the other hand, had only one real analytical peculiarity, in his out-of-place counterfactual hypothesizing in his conclusion.

Greer’s Marxist approach is much more evident here than in Mohawk Saint; through his discussion of Patriot nationalism, one can see a fairly clear criticism of our present political system; while he is writing from the early 1990s, his criticisms, I feel, are still valid for the early twenty-first century. Greer argues that our present judgments of Patriot ideas of democracy and nationalism are unfair, since we haven’t ourselves established a truly democratic state.[2] His characterization of Patriot nationalism as ambiguous[3] is one that could describe most Canadian nationalisms, in Quebec and elsewhere, for much of Canadian history.

Greer’s work is largely a political history, but with significant elements of cultural history in his discussion of the role of popular culture elements, such as the charivari and maypole, in the Rebellions. This cultural element is a definite strength of both works, although less so in Fyson’s more explicitly political history. Greer demonstrates how the maypole became a symbol of political struggle during the Rebellion, from its previous purpose as, possibly, a means of honouring a community member or vesting them with authority.[4] Patriots similarly incorporated the charivari, a visible, even theatrical means of community response to specific acts of social deviance, into their arsenal for the Rebellion. The charivari, a ritual not uncommon in early modern Europe, had previously served to draw attention to objectionable marriages, shaming the new couple and requiring them to give money to the organizers of the charivari and to charity.[5] In the context of the Rebellion, the Patriots repurposed this ritual to target non-Patriots for specific offences against the Rebellion, such as refusing the step down from the magistracy.[6] Greer explains that, by giving direction to the anger of the masses,[7] the charivari was a “restraining influence” that actually prevented more serious violence.[8]

Another major symbol that Greer discusses is Queen Victoria, crowned during the overture to the Rebellion. Patriots used the idea of this young female queen to cast the loyalists as being “governed by a little girl,”[9] showing their conceptualization of “the people” as being exclusively male.[10] In this sense, Queen Victoria becomes a symbol of the separate spheres ideology that was gaining power as a model for gender roles during the early nineteenth century. While most habitants knew little of their new queen, for the elite Patriots, she became the antithesis of the Rebellion, casting it as a male space. Though cast as an attempt to protect women,[11] this had a definite relevance for the outcome of the Rebellion, as it failed to garner the widespread practical support of women, a potentially critical force.

Fyson’s symbolism was more physical than archetypal or perfomative; the only instance where an analysis of symbols takes the forefront is in his discussion of courthouses and other locations of justice. Fyson examines motifs of majesty and terror in the architecture of justice, considering whether the justice system made a symbolic imposition in addition to a practical one.[12] Fyson argues that urban architectural settings of justice were designed to express institutional power and British symbolism.[13] He argues against a possibility that such symbolism may have alienated Canadien users of the justice system, noting that it was the bureaucracy of justice rather than its physical geography that would be foreign to them.[14]

There is certainly an extent of interplay between these two texts. Fyson speaks to Greer, from several years later. Ideologically he seems aligned with Greer, though they disagree on quite specific points of analysis. While Greer claims that legal institutions during this period were limited in their scope and power,[15] Fyson quite convincingly counters that charge throughout his work by showing Canadien engagement with the justice system. Greer does concede that habitants were experienced at engaging with and resisting the state;[16] it seems that his focus on the people almost make the state and its infrastructure too marginal in this analysis.

From my perspective, as a student who works from an (intentionally fluidly and vaguely defined) anti-oppressive stance, the relatively limited consideration of intersectionality in these works is a significant shortcoming. Class and ethnicity—which both historians characterize as English and French, with minimal mention of other ethnic groups—are the thrust of both texts; issues of race and gender are typically sectioned into small, dedicated parts of each text, with less critical analysis of issues of masculinity and femininity than I would like. The notable exceptions to this are Greer’s chapter on Queen Victoria, and Fyson’s scattered mentions of violence against women. The assumption throughout both texts is that the Canadien/habitant is always white and is male, unless otherwise specified; the “state” is, aside from the queen, a white, male entity. Perhaps wanting every analysis to be cognizant and critical of the intersections of gender, race, and class throughout is overly demanding or even impossible, but this is what I see as a priority for historians working in our current society, regardless of their period of study. In my view, this means of analyzing the experiences of marginalized members of society is reinforcing the hegemonic nature of academia.

One pertinent question that comes through, particularly in Fyson’s work, concerns the applicability of using theoretical models in history. Fyson essentially ruptures theories about rupture and stasis, but without necessarily proposing a new theoretical model. Could his refuting of this argument the seed of a new model unto itself, rather than a rejection of such theory altogether? Conceivably, Fyson’s argument that the rupture/stasis model is inappropriate could be an anti-rupture/stasis springboard for criticisms of other elements of the state. It appears that he is skeptical of theory, concluding with an assertion that theoretical models are, in this case, irrelevant if people achieved their desired ends from the justice system.[17] According to Fyson, the everyday experiences of the justice system are too ambiguous and diverse for any particular model.[18] Does this mean that models are, as a whole, too imperfect to be applicable to history? Are they useful for framing an analysis, even if the eventual conclusion is that the frame itself is inadequate?

I have attempted here to focus on the commonalities between these texts. There are other elements that merit further analysis, however, such as Greer’s discussion of anti-feudalism as a mechanism for gaining support for the Rebellion, rather than a cause of the Rebellion itself. How does this relationship between classes, and understanding of social class, emerge in Fyson’s analysis of the justice system? This class element, and the split between urban and rural experiences, certainly are other venues of comparison. Greer and Fyson both portray an interplay, rather than a conflict, between classes. Similarly, a useful discussion could be had regarding possible differences in conceptions of nationalism, depending on social location. The role of the parish as a site of conflict, control, and social engagement is another potential juncture between these monographs. Overall, Fyson and Greer both analyze the impact of small changes and the often anonymous actors in history, rather than the leaders or major events, showing a need for a more holistic and inclusive interpretation of the state and society in Lower Canada.

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[1] Fyson, 355, 358.

[2] Greer, 136.

[3] Greer, 133.

[4] Greer, 109-113.

[5] Greer, 70-85.

[6] Greer, 254.

[7] Greer, 248.

[8] Greer, 252-253.

[9] Greer, 191.

[10] Greer, 198.

[11] Greer, 206

[12] Fyson, 312.

[13] Fyson, 316, 319.

[14] Fyson, 331.

[15] Greer, 100.

[16] Greer, 118.

[17] Fyson, 363.

[18] Fyson, 360.

This week's readings overseen by Stephen the Seagull.

Foucault had issues

...the inability/refusal to acknowledge gender and intersectionality being part of it.

That's all for tonight.

Go home and get to work!

New France - Dechêne and Greer

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Despite being temporally and geographically linked, the connections between Allan Greer’s Mohawk Saint and Louise Dechêne’s Le Peuple, l’État, et la Guerre are not exceptionally strong. As both monographs use quite different approaches for their only somewhat related topics, analytical similarities between the two are perhaps tenuous; I would argue that what brings these works together is their emphasis on problematizing dominant narratives, often with non-traditional readings of sources. Such an argument, however, merely shows that both are fairly well situated in a recent historiography that reconceptualizes issues that older historians have explored; both texts are more unique than that. It therefore makes more sense for me to analyze them separately, to avoid creating a laundry list of seemingly arbitrary similarities and differences.

Louise Dechêne’s work was a challenge for me, as it involved reading quite significant amounts of French! My understanding of her methods and argument may therefore be entirely off-base. Dechêne takes a myth that the Canadiens were belligerent by nature and problematizes it, considering the relationship between the Canadiens and France, their collective psychology, and the religious implications of their defeat. According to Dechêne, war was critical to society in French Canada during the 1700s; a full understanding of it entails studying the history of the family, agriculture, commerce, and so forth.[1] Where some historians have argued that the Canadiens felt abandoned by France during and after the Seven Years War, Dechêne claims that the sense of abandonment present during that era was religious, rather than colonial or political, mediated through ecclesiastical discourses and furthered through British propaganda.[2] Dechêne argues for a tighter relationship between France and French Canada than many historians would posit, claiming that the notion of nationality often applied by historians is anachronistic for this period; instead, Canadiens were linked closely to France and to their king.[3]

As this work was published posthumously, it includes valuable commentary by Dechêne’s contemporaries. They emphasize the conceptual path between Dechêne’s earlier work, Habitants et Marchands, and this newer monograph, showing how the former placed the state parenthetically to the analysis; I read this as meaning that the state was intentionally an afterthought, opposite to older trends in top-down history where the state would be at the forefront, with society (to the degree that it can be separated from the state?) largely forgotten. It was not clear to me exactly how this parenthetical relationship played out, without having read Habitants et Marchands, and also perhaps not fully understanding the nuances of the forward to this work; how does Dechêne conceptualize the relationship between the state and society in this later work?

There was one particularly puzzling element in Thomas Wein’s forward to Dechêne’s text. He linked the experiences of the Canadiens in New France to Rwandans and Yugoslavians during 1990s genocidal regimes, claiming that such links make this work more broadly about, and against, war.[4] Indeed Dechêne talked broadly about the atrocities of war, on the page he referenced, but she makes no mention of more recent instances of genocide. This is peculiar, in that he evidently reads more into her argument than she specifies; in addition, as genocide is such a politically charged issue, he at once implies more systemic violence against French Canadians than Dechêne describes. To me, this undermines the credibility of the forward, which I had been using to help me to understand the dense (and French!) text.

Allan Greer’s Mohawk Saint was a decidedly more accessible work for this Anglophone student, and a fascinating examination of religion, colonialism, gender, and identity. While Greer describes his work as a “dual biography,”[5] after studying numerous works on indigenous health and healing last semester, I saw it as particularly valuable as a study of bidirectional incorporation of religious and healing practices. I began reading with a distinct feeling of wariness towards the Jesuits, particularly after Greer described them as aiming to “harvest” Iroquois souls—which was a bit too reminiscent for my liking of Warwick Anderson’s description of the colonial scientist and brain harvester Gajdusek. It became clear, however, that the personal motivations of the Jesuits at Kahnawake were at least intended for more than their individual gain, lending them some sympathy; perhaps this is how Greer’s “dual biography” comes into play. I was particularly intrigued by how Greer reframed ideas of conversion to Christianity to show how it was really an interpenetration of religion and cultures between the Iroquois and the Jesuits, with neither fully understanding the other, particularly in relation to the self-injurious behaviours of the Christian Iroquois women and various attempts to make meaning from it.[6] I certainly read it as an attempt at dissociation, perhaps as a response to trauma, when I first heard of religious practices of self-mortification; Greer also acknowledges this possibility.[7] There is a good deal more that I have drawn from this text, making me particularly eager for this Thursday’s “large” group discussion.

Overall, there are some evident commonalities between Greer’s and Dechêne’s works. The complication and framing of religion features in both texts in somewhat unexpected ways, and each historian re-inserts individuality and identity into broader discourses. Even these intersections seem somewhat contrived, however, and I am hoping that each monograph will connect more logically with other works on my list.

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[1] Dechêne, 58.

[2] Dechêne, 458.

[3] Dechêne, 457.

[4] Thomas Wein, in Dechêne, 36.

[5] Greer, x.

[6] Greer, 118-123.

[7] Greer, 121.

If I am not working as hard as Apricot is, I am not working hard enough. Did you know that hamsters run 8 miles each night, on average, despite being the size of a medium potato?