“Dear John”: Overriding institutional axiology by privileging Indigenous relational ethics

Introduction

Given the axiological differences between the colonial academy and Indigenous communities, I had been anticipating tensions as a Kanyen’kehá:ka doctoral candidate preparing to do research with my own community. ¹ My supervisor and I had discussed the contrasting values of the institutional ethical oversight process and Indigenous community relational ethics. We had likewise discussed many of my supervisor’s experiences (e.g. Castleden et al., 2015; Stiegman and Castleden, 2015; Moore et al., 2017; Sylvestre et al., 2018) and examples of the inability of institutional research ethical oversight to fully grasp what ethical space ² means for Indigenous researchers and their communities doing research together.

When I received a letter from the Research Ethics Board (REB) of my academic institution regarding my application for ethical clearance to do research at home, I was immediately struck by the coldness and impersonality of the note. It had been addressed “Dear John.” They had gotten the salutation wrong. Did they know me? Did knowing me matter to an REB? Those dreaded “Dear John” letters, synonymous with impersonal break-up notes written to terminate a relationship. Was this the REB’s detached way of denying ethical clearance for the research and ending our relationship?

Of course, it was not. This inattention to detail regarding my name was likely an honest mistake and perhaps I am being cheeky but the irony of a “Dear John” letter was not lost upon me or my supervisor after she checked her students’ REB letters, all of which began with an honorific (i.e. Dear Ms. Jodi John). So, there was some cynicism as we laughed at the irony of this procedural error. For some (i.e. white researchers), this would simply be a salutation “gaffe.” For me it was emblematic of the contrasting conceptions of ethical behavior that I had been mentally preparing for but felt viscerally when it happened in the first line of communique with the REB.

The purpose of this paper is to describe some of the challenges and conflicting incumbent expectations (Cidro and Anderson, 2020) I faced as a Kanyen’kehá:ka researcher working with my own community. Our aim is two-fold (1) to support other Indigenous students and those who may experience similar challenges and (2) to influence policy change and relational engagement in ethical review processes in university settings. We begin by outlining the various critiques of institutional oversight of Indigenous research, then turn to several examples of how Jodi experienced the tensions as well as the potential and actual harm that institutional power interference caused in the review process. We describe how we worked through them together and then we outline implications and offer concluding recommendations.

Critiques of institutional oversight of Indigenous research

The Tri-Council Policy Statement: Ethical Conduct for Research Involving Humans (TCPS2) is the policy framework guiding human research for the federal research granting agencies in Canada (Canadian Institutes of Health Research, Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada, & Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, 2018); it originated in 1998 and has gone through a series of iterations. Beginning in 2010, the TCPS2 included a chapter specific to research involving First Nations, Inuit, and Metis Peoples of Canada, which is intended to provide a framework for the ethical conduct of research with Indigenous communities (Canadian Institutes of Health Research, 2018). Canadian universities aim to ensure adherence to the TCPS2 through the establishment of institutionally constructed REBs, who provide ethical oversight of academic research involving humans conducted by faculty and students (Alcock et al., 2017; Moore et al., 2017).

In response to the damaging and unethical research of the past (and present), and unsatisfied with institutional ethical oversight processes and policies, a growing number of Indigenous communities and organizations across Canada have also been developing their own Indigenous-led, community-based research ethics oversight policies and structures (Schnarch, 2004). These structures (see, e.g. OCAP^®, Mi’kmaw Ethics Watch, and the Kahnawake Schools Diabetes Prevention Program) are founded on and reflective of Indigenous worldviews, values, and principles of ethical behavior. They are intended to minimize research harms and maximize community benefits. Importantly, they also assert Indigenous inherent, legal, and constitutional rights to self-determination including decision making in research with Indigenous Peoples and on Indigenous lands (Kahnawake Schools Diabetes Prevention Program, 2023; Schnarch, 2004).

While both institutional and Indigenous-led community-based guidelines reflect progress and a reorientation to research conducted with Indigenous communities, concerns remain about the ways in which these guidelines are interpreted and operationalized by institutional REBs (Alcock et al., 2017; Fournier et al., 2023; Hayward et al., 2021; Stiegman and Castleden, 2015). For example, among others, issues identified as continuing to contribute to harm include: the ongoing centering of western notions of ethical behavior; the social, cultural, and political distance between the academy and Indigenous communities; being perceived as overly focused on protecting the interests of the academy rather than the Indigenous community; and the lack of practical guidance and support for both non-Indigenous and Indigenous academic researchers working with Indigenous communities (Cidro and Anderson, 2020; Fournier et al., 2023; Hayward et al., 2021; Stiegman and Castleden, 2015). Institutional guidelines are also being critiqued for creating tensions and challenges for Indigenous scholars conducting research together with their own communities (Grenz, 2023). This is where our commentary, like a small but growing body of Indigenous-led literature is aiming to intervene and correct the course.

“Ethics reflect, express, and reinforce the social and cultural values of a community” and are intimately tied to worldview (Castellano, 2004, p 99). Indigenous scholars assert that, rooted in a divergent worldview, Indigenous perceptions of ethical behavior often clash with the norms of institutional ethical guidelines for research (Castellano, 2004; Moore et al., 2017), which have emerged from a western worldview and reflect western values and perspectives in research settings (Bergier, 2022; Hayward et al., 2021; Schnarch, 2004). In particular, western oversight processes tend to be impersonal, procedural, compliance focused, linear, and litigious (Bergier, 2022; Stiegman and Castleden, 2015, Sylvestre, et al., 2018). On the contrary, Indigenous ethical guidelines have been found to be relational in nature, emphasizing strong relationships, responsibility, and reciprocity (Bergier, 2022; Fournier et al., 2023).

For years communities and scholars alike have been pointing to issues such as the social, political, and cultural distance between university REBs and Indigenous communities (Moore et al., 2017). Many argue that university-based REBs often lack a deep understanding of Indigenous histories, knowledge, methodologies, and the actualities of daily life in Indigenous communities (Fournier et al., 2023; Moore et al., 2017; Riddell et al., 2017; Schnarch, 2004). In Canada, there does not appear to be any requirements for institutional REBs to include Indigenous membership in the ethical oversight of Indigenous research. As a result, they often do not have Indigenous representation, thus Indigenous research is vetted by those who may not have the necessary worldview, values, research expertise, or lived experience to do so appropriately (Bergier, 2022; Stiegman and Castleden, 2015; Sylvestre et al., 2018).

Additionally, some assert that these institutional structures are hierarchical and paternalistic in nature, arguing that university REBs take on “the role of both police and protector in response to chapter 9 of the TCPS2” (Sylvestre, et al., 2018, p. 763). In doing so, the REB positions Indigenous communities as inherently vulnerable and subsequently fail to recognize Indigenous autonomy and self-determination in research. REBs can also be perceived as mistrusting toward researchers applying for ethical clearance (Bergier, 2022; Sylvestre et al., 2018). For example, in their study exploring the tensions of conducting anti-colonial community-engaged health research with Indigenous partners in academic settings, Sylvestre et al. (2018) reported that a significant number of participants found REBs to be an impediment to community-engaged research with Indigenous communities. They likewise noted that the imposition of unnecessary hurdles conveyed a sense of distrust of the researchers applying for ethical clearance. Bergier (2022) similarly provided an example of Indigenous researchers conducting research together with their own communities, but assumed to be outsiders by their institutional REBS. By repeatedly being asked to provide proof of engagement, it created feelings of frustration for the researcher and undertones of distrust emanating from the REB.

These hierarchical and rigid approaches can unwittingly result in ethics over-reach on behalf of the institution (Whetung and Wakefield, 2018) and disempower both the university-based researcher and the Indigenous community (Stiegman and Castleden, 2015). Stiegman and Castleden (2015) provide a notable example of this when their seasonally dependent land-based community research was delayed for over a year while they fulfilled the minutia of academic paperwork necessary to appease the university REB, despite receiving ethical clearance from their Indigenous community partner the year prior.

Others have criticized university REBs for being overly focused on protecting university reputations, legal interests, and safeguarding a consistent flow of funding rather than ensuring that researchers are upholding their ethical responsibilities to Indigenous communities (e.g. Bergier, 2022; Fournier et al., 2023; Hayward et al., 2021). In fact, there is little in the way of institutional mechanisms available to hold researchers accountable to Indigenous communities throughout research aside from the standard phone number and email address for the institutional REB provided at the end of a consent form, offered as a way of raising concerns (Fournier et al., 2023; Moore et al., 2017; Morton Ninomiya and pollock, 2017). What happens after a complaint is raised is dealt with internally by the institution and often involves confidentiality agreements. While researchers are required to complete annual renewal forms that include such information as the current status of the research, compliance, and deviation from the research protocol and materials, adverse events including complaints to the research team, and participant withdrawal from the study, these forms likewise reflect the procedural, compliance focused, and litigious approach of the institution. They do not provide space to relay the ways in which the researcher is upholding relational accountability to their Indigenous partners. Indigenous scholars and community members alike assert that this continued privileging of the TCPS2 and institutional interests throughout the research process, does not necessarily ensure ethically appropriate research involving Indigenous communities (Fournier et al., 2023).

Problematically, federal and institutional research ethics guidelines also fall short of acknowledging and supporting Indigenous autonomy and right to self-determination in research (Fournier et al., 2023; Garba et al., 2023; Hayward et al., 2021). Indigenous-developed, community-based ethics policies asserting Indigenous sovereignty over research are often treated simply as an add-on by the university (Fournier et al., 2023) while they continue to privilege the TCPS2. The TCPS2 itself purports to respect Indigenous jurisdiction over research in Indigenous communities, stating that it is “not intended to override or replace the ethical guidance of Indigenous people themselves” (Canadian Institutes of Health Research, 2018, p. 146). However, several scholars have noted the potential for discord when institutional ethics, as directed by the TCPS2 and enforced by institutional REBs, conflicts with protocols and values in community (Alcock et al., 2017; Riddell et al., 2017). They argue that institutional expectations placed on the researcher may be at odds with Indigenous values and ways of being and interfere with community relationships (Alcock et al., 2017; Moore et al., 2017; Stiegman and Castleden, 2015). When such conflict arises, institutional researchers may be left to navigate conflicting and incommensurable ethical expectations between the institution and the Indigenous community with little or no guidance from the TCPS2 or the REB (Alcock et al., 2017, Anderson and Cidro, 2019; Castleden et al., 2015; de Leeuw et al., 2012).

In their paper “Leashes and Lies,” Stiegman and Castleden (2015) write about the ways in which the colonial academy maintains ultimate decision-making power in research, and creates issues of compliance for the academic researcher referring to the “length of the leash” regarding the rigid rules of conduct one must adhere to, to maintain REB approval and the ways in which this “minutia” can strain community relationships. They assert that the Indigenous jurisdiction acknowledged in the TCPS2 is often unconsidered during an REB review of a researcher’s protocol, and they illuminate the precarious position this leaves the university-based researcher in (especially students and untenured researchers). They argue that, in essence, the university-based researcher may be left with a difficult choice. On the one hand, they can choose to uphold ethical guidance of their Indigenous partners and risk losing institutional ethical clearance, their funding for the project, and even their academic career. On the other hand, they can comply with the ethical guidance of the university at the cost of disrespecting community protocols and relational accountability as well as undermining Indigenous self-determination efforts, and in essence, perpetuate the paternalism of ethics compliance (Stiegman and Castleden, 2015).

For Indigenous scholars conducting research together with our own communities, the ethical dilemma described by Stiegman and Castleden (2015) to either uphold community ethical protocols or that of the institution has even higher stakes. Chapter 9 of the TCPS 2 was created for research that has historically (and to this day) largely been undertaken by non-Indigenous researchers in Indigenous communities. But Indigenous researchers conducting research together with their communities is a contrasting story (Grenz, 2023). Research in this context is altogether different and founded on different worldviews, values, relationships, responsibilities, as well as repercussions (Brayboy and Deyhle, 2000; Grenz, 2023). Indigenous researchers’ ways of engaging have the potential to impact not only our reputation and success in the academy but also—and more importantly—the relationships that form the very foundation of our daily lives in our communities. With no separation between personal and professional lives, our accountability to community is even greater (Brayboy and Deyhle, 2000; Grenz, 2023; Hurley and Jackson, 2020). Institutional ethical guidelines do not account for these types of relationships (Battiste 2007; Grenz, 2023) grounded in Indigenous kinship and generations of community connection, reciprocity, and accountability. As a result, Indigenous scholar Grenz argues that “institutional ethics review processes routinely impede Indigenous academics’ research with Indigenous communities” (2023, p. 1), with the potential to cause harm—the very thing they are trying to prevent.

Navigating power, tensions, and interference

From the beginning, my university’s general research ethics board (GREB) process felt foreign to me. Completing the impersonal, procedural, and linear application to be sent to members of the REB whom I did not know, and who did not know me, or my community felt somewhat off-base. How could they judge my suitability to do research together with my community without knowing any of us? I noticed too that my community was all but absent from the process, outside of an obligatory letter of support. As many Indigenous and non-Indigenous researchers alike have experienced, it felt like a bureaucratic hoop one jumps through to receive institutional approval (Sylvestre et al., 2018). It did not feel like a reciprocal, trusting relationship in which all involved come together to work toward mutual understanding and the common goal of doing research “in a good way” (Ball and Janyst, 2008, p. 33). In fact, it was obvious that the institution and I had very different ideas about what “in a good way” meant (Alcock et al., 2017; Wilson, 2008). Completing the application, I felt awkward and frustrated trying to express myself and my intentions while attempting to translate the language of community into the language of the academy (Beals et al., 2020). The application seemed unable to capture the depth of responsibility and accountability I felt toward my community, our connections, and our future. It did not ask for such depth, nor did it seem to understand the need for it, all the while judging the relationship and my suitability from a distance. Gatekeeping: the activity of controlling, and usually limiting, general access to something (Oxford Dictionary). In noticing this difference of perspective, I felt nervous awaiting approval (or disapproval) from the gatekeepers.

We are not suggesting that ethical oversight and protecting research participants from potential harm is not of the utmost importance. It is. In fact, as an emerging scholar one of the things I learned from my supervisor is that the ethics application process is beneficial in helping me think more deeply about how to carry out research in a good way, imagining the potential risks and how to minimize them, and how my research proposal would play out in practical ways in community. I likewise felt supported—though also misunderstood—when I reached out to GREB representatives with questions as I negotiated my first time through this institutional process. The problem is, in thinking through the requirements of the GREB application including the writing of recruitment scripts, the Letter of Information (LOI) and consent forms, I realized these highly litigious and bureaucratic forms (Bergier, 2022) and processes were in fact not appropriate in the context of my community relationships. At this point I found myself in the catch-22 described by Stiegman and Castleden (2015) of trying to appease university ethics when they conflict with community relational ethics.

I knew that the verbose information letter and consent form would not work for my pre-existing and close relationships because they failed to recognize the mutual respect, trust, responsibility, and accountability that make up the substance of these relationships. As a result, these forms and processes felt like they separated me from my community, inserted the institution and its hierarchies into my community relationships and set me apart. The REB for its part, seemed unaware of the harm of imposing these foreign processes on me and the ways in which they alienate and marginalize me from my own community (Brayboy and Deyhle, 2000; Grenz, 2023). Working to achieve the rigid requirements of the application and these forms to gain ethics clearance created a tremendous amount of anxiety for me, and I worried they would interfere with my community relationships.

On receiving institutional ethics approval and beginning my community-based research, I felt self-conscious being associated with the academy and worried my community would reject me (not just my study) in the role of researcher. Balancing community relational norms with institutional ethical requirements was a struggle. To me, they often felt at odds with each other (Alcock et al., 2017; Castleden et al., 2015; de Leeuw et al., 2012); one trusting, flexible, and natural, and the other untrusting, rigid, and foreign. Time spent responding to the rigidity of the ethics clearance application dictating what and how I would communicate with fellow community members via “recruitment scripts” soon also proved futile. Recruitment was done very informally, as most things are in community, based on pre-existing relationships, via friendly and non-scripted conversations at community events, chance run-ins, text messages, and by other community members who support my work and whose words I do not control.

The imposition of the LOI and consent forms, with all the necessary institutional jargon to satisfy the REB, proved to be yet another disconnect. While I felt pressure, as an emerging scholar, to prove that I could speak this academic language (Beals et al., 2020), these forms left me feeling self-conscious and, in fact, embarrassed in community. I found myself pre-emptively apologizing for the formality of the LOI as I offered it to fellow community members. I expressed recognition of the fact that it was reflective of foreign priorities, concerns, language, and ways of being rather than our own. I was not the only one who felt these tensions. Early on, a couple of community members commented awkwardly that they only partly and quickly skimmed the LOI because they found it quite “formal” and “institutional,” and my self-consciousness and embarrassment grew. In recognition of the litigiousness, one community member remarked “it seems like a lot of ‘covering your ass’ information.” In this instance the LOI seemed to raise a red flag for the community member and created a tension and unease previously not felt between us. Personally, I felt weird, as if marginalized not only from my community, but from myself.

Another community member, whom I had emailed a copy of the LOI prior to our visit commented that she did not bother reading it, because she “didn’t need to.” On hearing this I tried to verbally summarize the LOI to which she objected, “I trust you whole heartedly, I don’t need to know the rest.” The sense I got from this was that I was wasting her time with needless bureaucratic formality, so I honored this and moved on with our conversation. Based on our longstanding and multifaceted relationship, she was not concerned with institutional ethical procedures, and to her, it seemed, it was not institutional ethical procedures that protected her from risk, it was our relationship. This is not to imply that based on our relationship I am absolved of my responsibilities in conducting ethical research with her. On the contrary, my view is that rooted in close and meaningful pre-existing community relationships and the substance of those relationships including relational ethics of respect, reciprocity, mutual benefit, and her free will, that my responsibility and accountability to her goes beyond the purview of the academy and its ethical processes and procedures.

Data collection was also, at times, “unscripted.” One such example of the natural community flow was the unexpected development of a “research roundtable,” called for, not by me but a fellow community member, that sprung to life organically at an unrelated community event. The inception of and planning for this event was led by another community member, not me. Even though this was not exactly the plan according to my GREB application, I was touched by the way they picked up and supported my work. So, I accepted this reciprocity with gratitude and followed their lead. I was, however, left wondering whether I needed to report this as “deviant” from the REB protocol that I was approved to carry out. I discussed this with my supervisor and the decision we reached was that it was not necessary to “get caught up in the minutia” at the institutional level as the research scope had not changed and to continue forward, grounded in the relational ethics of the community.

However, just weeks before the roundtable was scheduled to occur, it came to my attention that the elder participants and planner had organized for this event to be in-person which I had not expected. This research took place in 2022–2023, during the COVID 19 pandemic, though the roundtable was scheduled when community restrictions for in-person gathering had been lifted. In consideration for utmost community safety, I had intended to carry out data collection virtually and specified this in the REB protocol. However, in this case I was happy to oblige the wishes of the elder participants and organizer. This time we decided that I should submit an amendment to the REB protocol and anticipated no issues as there were no institutional restrictions on in-person data collection at the time, and the extra precautions had simply been a personal choice. We were correct in our assumptions and the REB granted approval for the shift to in-person data collection as per the wishes of the community. However, the issue was that granting this approval took over a month. This institutional pace was oblivious to the organic realities of community-based work. Waiting would have interfered with the time, energy, scheduling, and relationships that took place in community to make the research roundtable happen (Alcock et al., 2017; Anderson and Cidro, 2019; Ball and Janyst, 2008) . . .. we did not wait.

As the time neared for the research roundtable and I still had not received clearance for the amendment, we discussed the difficult position I again found myself in: the catch-22 of the institutional “leash.” The decision to move forward with the roundtable while still awaiting approval (that we were sure would come) was not made lightly. In fact, I felt a tremendous amount of stress. I felt stuck in the middle, of having to choose between being a good researcher (by institutional standards) or being a good researcher and community member (by community standards) and remaining true to myself. I was negotiating new boundaries (Beals et al., 2020) and grateful to have my supervisor’s support, in this otherwise lonely process. In choosing to honor this gift of support and reciprocity from community, I worried about what this would mean for my academic career and the future of this very research. We likewise discussed potential consequences for my supervisor (who is ultimately responsible for my actions, from an institutional point of view) for trusting my integrity and supporting my community relationships. It felt like choosing to uphold these relationships and remaining true to myself, put us both in a potentially precarious position in the institution. It also felt too risky to raise these concerns to the REB as by drawing attention to them could create further stress, apprehension, and delay.

The community-led research roundtable turned out to be a wonderful opportunity to (re)connect with community elders over snacks and tea and participate with them in a group conversation about my research questions. Again, rooted in community relationships, being aware of the age of those in attendance, and self-consciously aware of the language and formality of the LOI and consent forms following the unprovoked feedback from other community members, I realized that imposing them would be inappropriate and potentially off-putting and interfering (Bergier, 2022; Hayward et al., 2021), so I chose not to use them. Again, supported and advised by my supervisor, I focused instead on upholding and honoring community relational ethics and being transparent about the research. Before beginning I verbally summarized in plain language my intentions and responsibilities to them as well as potential risks. I allowed time to answer their questions and requested permission to record. All agreed and so we proceeded.

The TCPS2 notes that it places primacy on relationships in research with Indigenous Peoples. The challenge, therefore, seems to lie with institutionally-specific REB processes that may not have the means to recognize when to “lay off” its policing of ethics policies and procedures. Their assumptions of western values and ways of being, seems to take away from the substance of Indigenous researchers’ relationships within their own communities. This includes the reciprocal nature of our relationships, my responsibility to uphold and respect my fellow community member’s free will and agency to make choices that are best for them, and my accountability to them to strive for no harm, which existed prior to the research and will continue throughout the research process and beyond. The REB approval process disrupted and challenged the fulfillment of extended kinship and community responsibilities and erroneously assumed that my ethical obligations in community could be fulfilled primarily through my role as a university-based researcher (Bergier, 2022; Cidro and Anderson, 2020) rather than a community member with meaningful and pre-existing relationships and responsibilities. With the arms-length structure of the REB essentially making that which is subjective into an objective “check the box” protocol, the very foundation of this process challenged my ability to honor and uphold community relationships and conceptions of ethical behavior.

Implications of “Dear John” REBs

While there is promising movement away from the damaging research of the past, institutional ethical oversight of Indigenous research still has a long way to go. Concerns remain about the ways in which institutional REBs continue to center the academy and western notions of ethical behavior while marginalizing Indigenous relational ethics; fail to provide practical guidance and support to researchers who may be caught between the two; and fail to meaningfully recognize Indigenous jurisdiction over Indigenous research (Alcock et al., 2017; Castleden et al., 2015; Stiegman and Castleden, 2015). While these concerns have the potential to create tensions for any researcher conducting research with Indigenous partners, institutional oversight structures, developed mainly for non-Indigenous researchers (Grenz, 2023) create unique tensions and challenges for Indigenous scholars researching alongside their own communities (Grenz, 2023; Brayboy and Deyhle, 2000). As such, we join the growing number of Indigenous and allied scholars calling for meaningful change to institutional oversight of research with Indigenous communities (Bergier, 2022; Grenz, 2023; Fournier et al., 2023; Hayward et al, 2021) including prioritization of Indigenous-developed, community-based research ethics protocols where they exist, and relational engagement in ethical review processes in academic settings (Bergier, 2022; Fournier et al., 2023 ) .

Institutional research oversight structures were originally framed around controlled environments of research labs conducting studies on human participants. Even as they have expanded to include community research, they continue to center the western perspectives and approaches they were founded on. These processes, intended to prevent harm, when founded on foreign values and principles of ethical behavior in the context of research with Indigenous communities, have the potential to become the cause of harm.

Rigid and linear institutional processes and demands for endless paper trails limit the involvement of community in decision making as research unfolds, creates hierarchies, relational tensions in community, and increases the burden (and stress) on the researcher to report every little change (Anderson and Cidro, 2019) or create forms that are inappropriate in community (and thus useless). In our experiences these processes conflict with the emergent and fluid nature of research grounded in community relationships and relational responsibilities, which are always open and evolving (also described in Sylvestre et al., 2018). For example, not following the community’s lead on the evolution of the research roundtable would have been both disrespectful and ungrateful of the time and support that were being offered and could have caused harm to our relationships. These impacts are compounded for Indigenous researchers conducting research together with their own communities, where they also live and where such relationships form the foundation of daily life. Likewise, the imposition of the highly formal and litigious letter of information previously described created a sense of distrust and apprehension, also disrupting community relationships and causing discomfort for researcher and participants alike.

An example of meaningful change that could be taken up by institutional REBs is relational engagement in the ethical review process (Bergier, 2022). Relational engagement would not only reflect Indigenous knowledge systems but also hold the potential to create a more supportive environment for researchers and an opportunity for REBs to better understand the needs and perspectives of both Indigenous communities and Indigenous scholars.

Colonial institutions have historically held, and largely continue to hold, the lock and key on research, maintaining control and power over the very definition of research and controlling both the flow of funding and ethical oversight (Coombes et al., 2014; Schnarch, 2004; Sylvestre, et al., 2018). To meaningfully support Indigenous autonomy and right to self-determination in research, where they exist, Indigenous-developed, community-based research ethics structures must be prioritized and accepted as valid by the academy rather than simply being treated as an add-on as they are now (Fournier et al., 2023); essentially creating more work and impacting timelines, both of which negatively impact Indigenous (and other) researchers doing research with Indigenous communities and disempower the community (Anderson and Cidro, 2019; Bergier, 2022; Grenz, 2023; Stiegman and Castleden, 2015). When a community grants permission to do the research, they have, in essence, already considered the risks and benefits of a project to individuals in the community and the community as a whole; thus it should result in an expediated review at the institution. Prioritizing Indigenous developed, community-based ethics protocols and processes acknowledges Indigenous jurisdiction over Indigenous research, centers Indigenous knowledge systems and puts the ethical oversight of research into the hands of those who understand the socio-cultural and political contexts best—the Indigenous community itself. For Indigenous researchers conducting research with their own communities, these community-based processes can likewise provide a space of understanding, relationship, and cultural continuity rather than misunderstanding, impersonality, distance, and acculturation.

Where community research ethics oversight structures are not in place, Indigenous membership on institutional REBs should be mandated, ideally including members of the community or nation involved (who would then be appropriately compensated for their time and expertise; and the REB also responsible for adhering to any of the community’s cultural teachings or protocols). Again, simply involving Indigenous Peoples in minimal reform of REB policy, without meaningful change, still risks maintaining the status quo and subjecting Indigenous researchers to “culturally inappropriate gatekeeping” (Grenz, 2023, p. 1).

REB’s should reflect on what ethical space means for Indigenous communities and Indigenous researchers working alongside their own communities and then create processes and policies in which Indigenous knowledge systems and principles of ethical behavior are legitimized and eclipse western review processes as described by the TCPS2 (see also, Fournier et al., 2023; Hayward et al., 2021). Further they should reflect that their continued failure to do so, thereby creating pressures for Indigenous scholars to acculturate to the academy, causes harm to both Indigenous scholars and their communities.

Concluding thoughts

Since 1999, when Linda Smith wrote the book “Decolonizing Methodologies,” we—Indigenous Peoples—have been speaking back to the academy, stating our need to define and articulate for ourselves the appropriate processes and tools necessary to uphold relational ethics and community protocols in research. We were reminded of this by Renée Paulani Louis’ (2006) call to the discipline: “Can you hear us now?” to end the paternalism at play and create new Indigenous-led ways of ethical clearance at universities for research by us, for us, and with us. We are still saying this, nearly 25 years later.

As sovereign nations, Indigenous communities working with their own Indigenous researchers (and non-Indigenous researchers for that matter) have the inherent right and responsibility to regulate research that impacts us (Schnarch, 2004; Stiegman and Castleden, 2015). Moreover, the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) specifies the right of Indigenous peoples to self-determination; to participate in matters that affect our rights in accordance with our own procedures; to maintain and develop our own decision-making institutions; and exercise control over expressions of our cultural heritage and intellectual property (UN, 2007). Therefore, to advance ethical research with Indigenous communities, we (Indigenous researchers and non-Indigenous accomplices) must challenge and unsettle structures, institutions, and policies that are assumed to be the only legitimate choice (Battiste, 2007; Simpson, 2014) and support Indigenous communities’ desires for self-determination in research (Coombes et al., 2014; Hayward et al., 2021; Moore et al., 2017) and all domains.

As we continue to move forward, centering Indigenous values and principles of ethical behavior in the institutional oversight of research places value on Indigenous knowledge and ways of being, which can significantly impact/improve the contributions that research can make in Indigenous communities (Brayboy and Deyhle, 2000), transform research results into tools that are meaningfully wielded by community for community, and (hopefully) make the distance and disconnect of a “Dear John” letter a thing of the past.