The honorable harvest of Indigenous data

Abstract

This commentary invites readers into a thought experiment to help decolonize thinking and gain insight into Indigenous research paradigms. It uses Anishinaabeg language and concepts such as the “honorable harvest,” and the “grammar of animacy,” to re-frame the way people can approach and think about knowledge production and data collecting. Through examples of relationship building and engaging in cultural protocols, this commentary offers ways to be a good relative in research.

“Data Dance Give-away”

Do we dare to give and be given

how do you make a mark in the sand

in a river, in the sky?

Seeking knowing

We process moments

Calculate trust

Build kinship

Gather seeds

Harvest with care

Nourish relations

Since Linda Tuhiwai’s (1999) contemporary classic Decolonizing Methodologies, Indigenous scholars, academics, teachers, and students have had a new vocabulary and system for talking about the ways we, diverse Indigenous peoples, know our worlds. We have an updated language to translate ancestral ways of learning and knowing and how we gather and share knowledge with others. Decolonizing methodologies helped us uncover what “we have always done,” to paraphrase Ojibwe scholar Leanne Simpson’s (2020) exceptional book that theorizes and expounds on a radical resurgent theory through Anishinaabeg peoples’ ways of knowing, learning, doing, and being. In the last 20 years, there’s been a proliferation of new publications and resources created and shared to address Indigenous research methodologies in academia and in our communities. We are truly in the midst of an efflorescence as Indigenous knowledge producers resisting colonialism and re-claiming our rights and responsibilities as guardians of the future.

This special journal issue here is a new contribution to this growing field in higher education, tribal education, and Indigenous research sovereignty. In this commentary, I address two of the eight phases that we, as special issue editors (Johnson et al., 2023), have identified as key in Indigenous research processes: relationship building and cultural protocols. I offer a thought experiment to help decolonize thinking and gain insight into Indigenous research paradigms. I suggest a cognitive interruption to pause, suspend, and re-frame the way we approach and think about knowledge and language as I, and many of the contributors here, consider “how to be a good relative in research.” ¹

To be a good relative in research, we must build strong relationships and respect Indigenous cultural protocols. Given the vast diversity of Indigenous nations in the United States alone (over 570) and First Nations and other Indigenous groups around the world, it is important to first do your own research, listen, and learn about the different ways diverse Native peoples make relations and enact cultural protocols. Here, I offer a perspective from my Anishinaabeg way and tie it to other Indigenous nations of Turtle Island that speak similar languages rooted in what is called the Algonquian language family. I think this approach may also speak to larger, common Indigenous values, many of which are discussed throughout these articles and encoded in instruments like the UN “Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples” and other related documents (Held, 2019). It’s important to remember that diverse cultural protocols are expressed daily in long houses, round houses, tipis, and other traditional learning lodges, as well as in universities, tribal courts, hospitals, museums, community centers, homes, and other places around the world where Indigenous peoples gather and assert intellectual and cultural sovereignty.

Anishinaabeg thought-experiment

I now propose a thought-experiment, a sort of linguistic Anishinaabeg mind-trick, to re-think the ways we understand and gather knowledge. For this experiment, we’ll utilize two critical frameworks, namely, “learning the grammar of animacy” and the “honorable harvest,” as articulated by Robin Wall Kimmerer in her landmark book Braiding Sweetgrass (2013). According to Kimmerer, “English is a noun-based language, somehow appropriate to a culture so obsessed with things. Only 30% of English words are verbs, but in Potawatomi that proportion is 70%” (p. 53). She points out that Potawatomi and other Anishinaabeg languages (Ojibwe and Odawa), as part of the larger Algonquian language family, are deeply verb-based, meaning they describe a world that is dynamic and animate, a world of actions, processes, flux, and change. The Algonquian language family is one of the largest precolonial and contemporary Indigenous languages spoken in North America, in terms of both the number of speakers and geographical area covered (US Department of Commerce, 2013). ² The forced shift in language, in grammar, from Anishinaabemowin to English or French during colonial times, created a profound shift in thinking and being. There is much scholarly debate about the relationship between language and thought and language and perception (Zlatev and Blomberg, 2015). The Sapir–Whorf hypothesis of the 1940s proposed that language determines thought, but that theory was criticized for being too deterministic and not having enough data behind it (Takano, 1989). Yet this notion persists, as W. Richard West, Jr, founding director of the National Museum of the American Indian and member of the Southern Cheyenne tribe of Oklahoma, stated so well: “Language is central to cultural identity. It is the code containing the subtleties and secrets of cultural life. In many ways, language determines thought.” ³

With the power of language in mind, for this experiment, I propose replacing the noun “knowledge” with the verb “to know” or “knowing.” So, instead of referring to Indigenous knowledge systems or Traditional Ecological knowledge, I refer to “ecological knowing” or “ways of knowing” for this essay. Ways of knowing implies a plurality of ways or methods and an active process that is not complete or final. It also carries humility in it as it does not convey a singular, authorized body of knowledge, such as “western science” or even “Indigenous knowledge.” Knowledge as a noun can get turned into a thing, a product, a commodity. It can become mono-cognitive, mono-cultural, mono-lithic, one way. Indian physicist and activist Vandana Shiva (1993) warns us of these “monocultures of the mind.” She shares that these monocultures stem from a colonial way of thinking that is rooted in and reinforces the idea of a superior, separate self that is antithetical to most Indigenous ways of thinking and knowing.

The grammar of animacy opens poly-cognitive and poly-cultural ways of knowing. It’s the language of relationship, of deep listening that embraces multiple ways of making kin with the many beings we share place with, whether oak trees and shale mountains, hummingbirds and saguaro cactus, or lizards and flowing rivers, and of course, with our own species, fellow mammalian two-leggeds of the five-fingered clan of many ages, colors, sizes, languages, places, and worldviews.

Now that we’ve re-framed the way we think about and approach knowing, how do we ethically gather and honorably harvest the knowing of others for our research? What is the purpose of our search? What’s our data? Where did our research question(s) come from? Is it a general inquiry and curiosity, or is it a carefully considered and vetted set of research questions co-produced with the communities I want to learn from? Why is it important to me? How will it support me and support others? Who benefits and who loses by sharing these ways of knowing? To address these questions, I look to my ancestors for answers and ask more questions: How did our Ojibwe cultural hero Nanaboozhoo engage with ecological knowing? How did Sky Woman learn to live on Turtle’s back? They gained ways of knowing through protocols, through learning, through listening, through honorable and respectful forms of engagement, through entering “ethical spaces of engagement.” ⁴

Joining the ethical space of engagement requires thoughtful connection. First, we meet, share stories, listen to each other’s values and intentions, observe each other’s body language, earn respect, share humor and food, visit each other’s homes, exchange gifts, sing and dance, feel safe and heard, and many other diverse and beautiful ways humans engage in making kin. Ojibwe authors Latulippe et al. in this journal refer to maanjiwe nendamowinaan, “the gathering of minds.” This process can take a few months to several years, and even decades. Sometimes a relative is made in a moment. Yet this process of making kin, or kinning, as I have called it, is ongoing and continuous (Hausdoerffer, 2021: 136). Relationships need to be renewed and reviewed and evaluated over time. Some are more formal with official types of cultural protocols at certain times of the year and others less formal and more playful with fluid kinship engagements, but all research relationships must be taken seriously and righteously. Once this process is in a good place, with trust established, clear communication, mutual goals, equitable power, reciprocal sharing, and a shared definition of research and a co-produced plan, data gathering may begin.

Redefining data

In mainstream academic research, especially in the natural and social sciences, knowledge is gained as data. As researchers, we should strive to have large data sets made up of lots of data points. Data is critical and important, such as levels of benzene in drinking water or number of young people who vote in a certain county. Data shows us trends. Almost anything can be turned into “data,” especially if it is measurable in standard numbers. One of the hallmarks of Western science, medicine, and engineering is the acquisition of data that’s then analyzed using statistical and other quantitative measurements to reveal trends and hidden information. This has led to vaccines and electric cars, satellites, and so many other aspects of modern living. Yet this type of data often leaves out other forms of knowing more akin to the grammar of animacy, what Greg Cajete (2000) points out as a key distinction between Western and Indigenous sciences, and that the former is based on the idea of objective observation and the latter on the idea of subjective participation or intersubjectivity (Held, 2019). This intimacy and kinship with that which we are engaging engenders qualities and subtle meanings that cannot so easily be measured, or ethically should not be measured.

If we look at the word “data,” according to the Etymology online dictionary, one of its root meanings is, “to dare to give.” Is data taken or given? Data is often taken and is a key step in the scientific method and in every doctoral student’s research plan. But it is interesting to think of data as having agency to “dare to give.” In the grammar of animacy, some data is animate. This question of if data is taken or given or is animate or passive is at the root of the “decolonial turn” ⁵ and revolution in knowledge research and data sovereignty, which two of our articles directly address. Indigenous scholars in this issue and in this growing field are saying that ways of knowing must be given with free, prior and informed consent through cultural protocols and ethical forms of engagement. Data cannot be taken without consent, and both terms, “data” and “consent,” must be fully vetted and defined for shared understanding. For many Indigenous peoples, what is often called “data” by scientists are relatives or ancestors to them. For example, Dr Clay Dumont, a Klamath sociologist, created a class at San Francisco State University called “Data or Ancestors?” ⁶ to discuss the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act. One of his points was that data can be dismissed, deleted, and dissected, while ancestors must be honored, respected, and cared for. “Two-eyed seeing,” another theme in this issue, requires resolving these different research paradigms and approaches to data so that they are complimentary and reciprocal not in conflict.

Some may try to side-step cultural protocols because they think general ideas, concepts, stories, or other non-quantifiable aspects of knowing are not “data.” But as you read in some of our articles, stories are data sources, and Indigenous peoples are developing our own metrics. As Indigenous researchers, many of us are interested in re-writing and re-righting history and combating the erasure of our people’s presence on the land. History, philosophy, religious studies, journalism, and related fields do not generally rely on the same kind of measurable data, or metrics, as the natural and social sciences. Humanities scholars and those who use qualitative methods often engage in narrative scholarship by using the power of story and narrative to convey meaning and value and create new ways of knowing. Jo-Ann Archibald (2008), for example, calls this “story-work.” Much of what many of us call Indigenous science is deeply rooted in this story-work. So, data is a tricky concept when utilizing decolonial methodologies, but an important and exciting one to explore and define with Indigenous research partners (for example, see Kyrstal Tsosie’s Native BioData Consortium).

To continue this ongoing experiment, we will now consider data as food and will re-frame research as harvesting, so instead of “researching data” we will “harvest food.” So, what are the cultural protocols involved with honorably harvesting food?

The honorable harvest

The honorable harvest is a set of principles and original instructions shared by many Indigenous peoples and land-based people who harvest from the land for cultural wellbeing. They are based on the ways Native peoples gather food (plants, animals, fungi, algae, etc.), water, medicines, minerals, and other elements from the Earth. They outline an ethic of respect, responsibility, and reciprocity that is counter to the modern practice of hyper-consumerism.

Robin Kimmerer (2013: 183) succinctly summarized the principles of the honorable harvest:

○ Know the ways of the ones who take care of you, so that you may take care of them.

○ Introduce yourself. Be accountable as the one who comes asking for life.

○ Ask permission before taking. Abide by the answer.

○ Never take the first. Never take the last.

○ Take only what you need.

○ Take only that which is given.

○ Never take more than half. Leave some for others.

○ Harvest in a way that minimizes harm.

○ Use the harvest respectfully. Never waste what you have taken.

○ Share.

○ Give thanks for what you have been given.

○ Give a gift, in reciprocity for what you have taken.

○ Sustain the ones who sustain you and the earth will last forever.

I propose experimenting with the tenets of this honorable harvest for data gathering. How would research change? In the process of “harvesting food,” we then can anticipate how we will prepare, ingest, and metabolize this food, what’s generally called “data analysis.” Continuing with the food metaphor, if we are gathering seeds, this includes the cleaning, processing, sifting, winnowing, sorting, and evaluating process. The grammar of animacy and the honorable harvest tell me to harvest with care and intention and to consume and digest slowly. In foodie language, we’re talking slow food not fast food. Yet sometimes there are urgent issues: a river is polluted with toxic mine tailings, for example, and food/data must be gathered quickly. In these urgent cases, there will be other types of protocols to consider to make quick decisions about potentially life-threatening impacts. Sometimes storms are coming, and you need community to harvest all the corn quickly.

A harvester of food needs to be agile, nimble, and quick on their feet to plan well and intentionally harvest but also be able to respond quickly when the inevitable changes and surprises occur. I’ve had experiences, for example, where I’m talking to an elder about conducting an interview in the future; we are going over questions, topics, timing, consent, and so on and then they say, “turn on the recorder,” and want to tell a story or share a teaching then and there and want it harvested! That’s usually a good sign, as trust has been established and something has been inspired. I’ve also taken months and years to plan an interview or event to document or record only to arrive and find it has been canceled for some unknown reason. As we indicate in the editors’ introduction, these extra steps of making kin and honoring cultural protocols require extra time and effort, and flexibility. It’s burdensome and often unpredictable. Yet it’s the only way to proceed with ethical care and accountability in Indigenous communities.

In closing

To recap our experiment, we engaged with language play to change our thinking about research. Utilizing the grammar of animacy, we temporarily shifted the word knowledge to knowing to transform a common noun into a verb with multiple entry points or different ways of knowing and being open to dynamic changes. We considered how to come together in an ethical space of engagement to build trust, engender kinship, and bring our minds together in a good way. This is the essence of relationship building, yet each Indigenous nation, community, and group will have large and small differences about gift exchange, eye contact, body language, and other nuanced signals and gestures of trust building. And these relationships must be continuously assessed, evaluated, and renewed. They too are animate and dynamic so need attentive care. Once we build good relationships, we move to learning cultural protocols and agreeing to the research agenda. We considered the meaning of the word “data” and experimented with thinking of it as animate, transforming the idea of inert data into animate beings. We then re-framed the idea of “collecting data” to “harvesting food” and employed the honorable harvest principles for gathering ways of knowing. We considered whether data is given or taken and how asking that question brings up interesting questions of consent, reciprocity, transparency, and accountability. One of the honorable harvest tenets is: “only take that which is freely given,” like ripe summer apples falling to the ground. What if data, whether photographs, notes, water temperatures, or other “data points,” were gathered in this way? I do not know the answer, but I believe that asking this, and other related questions, is very important if we want to continue to decolonize research and revitalize Indigenous epistemologies.