Abstract
A liberal politics of recognition now constitutes the normal framework within which the fact and consequences of settler-colonialism are considered in the Canadian context. “Mutual recognition,” “reciprocity,” and “reconciliation” have emerged as increasingly central pillars of public discourse to the extent that they now structure the accepted face of state policy and Indigenous self-determination efforts alike. It is in light of, and against, this reigning orthodoxy that Glen Coulthard sets Red Skin, White Masks. Its central argument is one that will be familiar to those already engaged with the recent decolonization literature: the liberal recognition paradigm, despite its professed intentions, resoundingly fails to trouble the most basic structure of colonial domination to which Indigenous peoples are subject—namely, the ongoing dispossession of Indigenous lands and the ongoing negation of self-determining Indigenous authority—and must therefore be rejected. Importantly, however, Coulthard’s book represents no mere repetition of this argument and no simple denial of the theoretical or normative importance of recognition. Instead, it provides a highly rigorous, nuanced, and (above all) challenging consideration of recognition’s development and widespread acceptance in a distinctly liberal guise; of the implications this holds for struggles against settler-colonialism; and of possibilities for an alternative politics of decolonization.
As the book’s title suggests, Coulthard’s critique owes much to an encounter with the work of Fanon. In particular, he draws on Fanon’s arguments concerning the formation of “colonial subjectivities” within and against the objective historical conditions of colonial domination as a way of accounting for how, in the Canadian context, “a system of settler-state domination that does not sustain itself exclusively by force is reproduced over time” (p. 48). Coulthard finds the liberal politics of recognition to be heavily implicated in this regard, supporting both the “recognitive/subjective” and the “structural/objective” dimensions of colonial domination (p. 32). He develops this argument in a theoretical vein (engaging the work of Charles Taylor, amongst others) as well as an empirical one (through examination of Indigenous self-determination struggles in the Northwest Territories and elsewhere in Canada). In respect of both, Coulthard argues that the reigning liberal orthodoxy operates on the presumption that recognition primarily involves finding ways to better “accommodate” the distinctive needs and claims of Indigenous disputants, principally through the extension of special rights and statuses. Yet, whilst marking a notable improvement on previous eras of liberal theory/governance, this presumption nevertheless still constitutes a fundamental misrecognition of Indigenous discontent. In implicitly presuming recognition to be something “given” or “granted” by the state—and thus secured against its own assumed sovereign position—the violence of colonial dispossession and disempowerment is re-inscribed at a fundamental level. As such, for Coulthard, whilst the “intensity” of colonialism’s effects may well be altered through such recognition mechanisms, they promise at best only a minimal impact on the “generative structures” of colonial domination itself (p. 35).
The main thrust of the book’s argument in this regard will, as I have said, be familiar to those engaged in the recent decolonization literature. Nevertheless, Coulthard’s construction of it is a fresh and compelling contribution. This is due in no small part to the tighter grip on the recognitive/subjective side of colonialism that the use of Fanon affords him. This enables Coulthard to push further than most in examining how the liberal (and state-centric) recognition framework can also be understood to abet the reproduction of colonial subjectivities amongst Indigenous actors: principally, by compelling them to seek or to accept “forms of life” (economic, social, political, cultural) that remain basically conducive with the overall power structure of settler-colonialism. In this, Coulthard adds depth to the already well-rehearsed criticism of the liberal paradigm and mounts a more specific challenge against the recent drive towards reconciliation in settler contexts. The ready emphasis on notions of harmony and forgiveness accompanying that discourse, he contends, tends to wrongly position refusals to accept the prevailing state power structure as essentially degenerative and self-destructive attachments to past injustices, whereas in fact such discontents represent entirely appropriate responses to present, still unfolding, acts of injustice by the settler-state. The effect, Coulthard claims, is to subtly steer Indigenous subjectivities away from more far-reaching decolonization aims and towards the mere reorganization of the objective historical conditions of their oppression and dispossession.
This is a highly important aspect of the book because it is on this basis that Coulthard argues for a rejection of the liberal recognition route not only for its inability to meet the fundamental requirements of decolonization but also, and moreover, for its tendency to actively obscure them. Instead, Coulthard advocates a pathway of “Indigenous resurgence” built upon a performative rejection of the basic power structure characteristic of the liberal recognition paradigm. Principally, this requires a reorientation of energies away from attempts to modify or transform the colonial “outside” and towards a conscious “flourishment of the Indigenous inside” (p. 154: here borrowing from Leanne Simpson). It is at this point that Coulthard’s relationship with Fanon becomes a bit more complex. For, in distinction to Fanon (on Coulthard’s own reading), the turn away from the colonial gaze that is suggested here—and the project of Indigenous self-recognition and self-affirmation that this turn entails—represents not simply a means of decolonization but also something of its ends. That is, this positive affirmation of Indigenous distinctiveness represents botha strategic and a strong normative aim in Coulthard’s account, standing both as a way of better resisting colonial domination in the present and of substantively constructing suitably “decolonial” futures.
This move carries an important repercussion: it requires Coulthard to address concerns that he is in effect advocating a form of Indigenous essentialism—this, a worry that has also been brought against the “traditionalist” bracket more generally. Coulthard does not eschew this question, but neither does he seek to directly deny the charge. Rather, through examination of the complex entanglements of patriarchal and colonial oppression in the Canadian context, he aims to upset the presumption that an immediate or default “anti-essentialism” ought to be our stance on such matters. This he does by showing that, in the case of Indigenous women’s struggles in Canada, whilst there is evidence to suggest that essentialist articulations of identity can work to support oppressive configurations of power, the same can be said of constructivist or “anti-essentialist” articulations. Likewise (and accordingly), both can, for Coulthard, also play an important role in countering oppressive power structures. Whilst the essentialism question is certainly not put to bed here—and I would suggest that, from a normative standpoint at least, Coulthard does not really want to disavow it—he succeeds in ventilating a latent power expression that challenges its simple invocation against Indigenous resurgence/traditionalist positions. Indeed, he cautions against prematurely casting any discourse on identity “as inherently productive or repressive prior to an engaged consideration of the historical, political, and socioeconomic contexts and actors involved” (p. 103). This is a welcome and useful clarification on Coulthard’s own position, and it promises to advance discussion on this matter across the decolonization literature more generally.
If there is one issue on which Coulthard’s book remains a little ambiguous, it is in regard to the question of continued Indigenous engagement with the institutions and discourses of colonial domination. For, although self-recognition and self-affirmation—this “turning away”—are the keystones of the Indigenous resurgence movement he envisions, this must nevertheless be done “selectively” (p. 45); continued participation within the state framework remains unavoidable. The ambiguity arises here because, both at the end of chapter 1 and again at the end of the book, Coulthard explicitly sets himself out against the position of Dale Turner who contends that insofar as Indigenous engagement with the state remains necessary, this ought to be conducted through a group of specialized mediators—“Word Warriors,” as Turner calls them—grounded in Indigenous philosophies but nevertheless trained and highly proficient in the ways and discourses of settler society. 1 Coulthard rejects this strategy on the basis that it dangerously underestimates the disciplining (and co-optive) power of the state’s discursive apparatus. But he has little to say on precisely how this threat is to be (better) managed through the engagements that remain necessary even on the Indigenous resurgence pathway. Consequently, whilst the criticism raised against Turner is not unreasonable, one is left wondering how far it really goes and precisely what a more acceptable alternative for an Indigenous resurgence movement would look like.
Red Skin, White Masks speaks simultaneously on three distinct levels, and on each it has something important and challenging to put to the reader. It offers at once (1) a careful and challenging critique of both the theory and practice of recognition based politics in contemporary settler-colonial contexts; (2) something of a “wake up call” to Indigenous individuals and communities (and to their supporters) engaged in decolonizing struggles within such contexts; and (3) an important clarification on the “traditionalist” bracket of contemporary Indigenous critique. These voices are deftly interwoven across the book’s seven chapters, and, although each enjoys moments of clear foregrounding, none falls silent for very long. Coulthard’s book thus constitutes an important and timely contribution to the theory and politics of recognition, both in its general development and especially in the more specific case of settler-colonial contexts. Readers interested in either (or, of course, both) will find plenty to engage here.