Below is a conversation between Kim Davids Mandar, editor of In | Appropriate, a collection of essays with Canadian novelists on the subject of writing difference, and Jeremy Luke Hill, publisher at Gordon Hill Press, which will be releasing the collection in the fall of 2020. The images accompanying the conversation are "colour analysis" charts of various cultural artefacts by American artist Emily Noyes Vanderpoel (1842-1939). They invoke the process of filtering one iteration of art into another, forming a kind of a reflection on artistic interpretation that echoes with cultural appropriation as a theme.

Jeremy Luke Hill: So, Kim, I guess I’ll get the conversation started, both because the idea of the book began with me initially, but also because we should probably talk right from the top about the obvious problems with having a middle-class, able, white, settler, straight, cis man be involved with producing a book on appropriation. And the truth is, as you know, that the more I worked with you on this project, the more those questions made me reevaluate my role in it.

I mean, I'd always intellectually assented to the idea that writing needs to be very careful about misrepresentation of other people's identities and about appropriation of other people's stories. But talking with you throughout the project, and then reading through the interviews, I wrestled more and more with what those ideas meant for me, and it changed how comfortable I felt occupying a space in the conversation.

For example, I thought initially that it was important for the project to be led by someone who had a real stake in it, which is why I approached you to co-edit with me. But very early on I began to feel that even being your co-editor was occupying too large a space in the project. It didn't feel right for me to be asking questions in the role of interviewer or to be making decisions about which authors should be included in the book, and so I dropped solely into the role of publisher before we even got to the interview stage.

And not that I’m completely unconcerned about occupying even that publisher role, but if I'm going to be a publisher (with whatever privilege attains to that), then I feel like I need to do so in a way that isn't imposing itself too far on the voices that Gordon Hill Press is publishing. In other words, there’s a sense in which I think my job is sometimes to provide a platform for voices to be heard, and then to otherwise shut up and let those voices speak (he says, as he rambles on).

All that being said, what motivated the project for me in the first place was that I kept encountering the question of appropriation when someone had already behaved badly, had already misrepresented and offended, and the conversation in those cases tended understandably to be charged. It seemed to me that there needed to be an opportunity for a broader portion of the reading public to encounter those issues apart from any one specific instance of appropriation, to hear from authors who had already thought deeply about appropriation in thoughtful, curious, informed, patient ways.

It seemed to me that there needed to be an opportunity for a broader portion of the reading public to encounter those issues apart from any one specific instance of appropriation, to hear from authors who had already thought deeply about appropriation in thoughtful, curious, informed, patient ways.

That was more or less my professional motivation, I guess, and it felt all the more pressing to me personally because I’m a part of a multiracial, multicultural family, where I’m raising kids who are regularly confronted by questions of identity. Which certainly isn’t to claim some kind of “authentic” experience on my part (which I most emphatically don’t), but just to indicate the personal nature of my investment in the question of how to understand identity. I’m not only interested in the issue as a human being and as a publisher, but also as a father and a husband.

Kim Davids Mandar: Yeah, I get what you’re saying. Knowing you and your family and our (different but sometimes overlapping) community building work in Guelph, I felt like this was a project I could authentically dive into. However, as a newbie on the literary scene, I rely on your expertise and motivations as you and Shane launch into the Gordon Hill Press endeavour. My interest is in the topic. These points of intercultural connection are fascinating to me. I feel as though I’ve often hovered around the edges of intersectional spaces as a mixed-race immigrant.

You mention that there are obvious problems with your taking up space given your positionality. Well, I feel that there are equally problems with the way I approach the subject, if I’m being honest. But to dwell on the limitations and not recognize that there are multiple points of entry into this conversation that hold some value, is, I think, counterproductive to pursuing progress in this area of discourse. My positionality as a first-generation immigrant settler, straight, cis, middle class, middle aged, able-bodied woman evokes certain stereotypes for those who don’t know me. It speaks to my conditioning which is important, yet is reductionist and might be alienating.

I’m also a devoted spiritual practitioner, and as such, I attempt to transcend the limitations of this positionality. Also, in my writing practice, I continue to learn more about the art and power of the pen. One particular quote I like to consider is this: “How great the multitude of truths which the garment of words can never contain! How vast the number of such verities as no expression can adequately describe, whose significance can never be unfolded, and to which not even the remotest allusions can be made!” There’s something about this idea of the limitation of words and the vastness of meaning those words attempt to explore that feels liberating, to me. The impossibility of capturing everything perfectly kind of lets me off the hook. My work doesn’t have to be all-encompassing, but it can exist and be part of something that is much greater. In my academic work, I am also learning that each shared insight is contributing to an ongoing collective search for understanding. I value diversity of perspectives as an essential element of this process.

One of the reasons I loved the work involved in this collection of conversations is that it dips a toe into the ocean of possibility, when we listen deeply to one another. When I was exploring creative writing at the University of Guelph, and had just volunteered at my first Festival of Literary Diversity (FOLD), there was a great upheaval in CanLit with the whole cultural appropriation debate. As such, I thought your invitation to this project was relevant and I followed the opportunity with a lot of curiosity.

One of the reasons I loved the work involved in this collection of conversations is that it dips a toe into the ocean of possibility, when we listen deeply to one another.

One of the biggest challenges was inviting contributors to share their thoughts. I’m so grateful to those who agreed to speak with me. I realize the burden that weighs on people of colour or those deemed marginalized from a dominant cultural lens to explain their perspective. This is exhausting. It’s even more exhausting when it’s unpaid work. I appreciate that many simply want to live their lives, grow with their true allies, and spend their energies in that way. I have that feeling all the time. I get really tired trying to explain myself and my feelings. It takes time, it takes energy, and often goes undervalued, misunderstood, or generally re-framed or edited by the dominant voice.

Sometimes, I just throw up my hands and walk away.

Jeremy Luke Hill: It’s funny to hear you say that you rely on Shane and me for our expertise, because in many ways we’re very new to this as well. I mean, we’ve both had experience in the industry before we started Gordon Hill Press, but your book will come out with only our third season ever, so we’re also definitely learning as we go.

I want to echo your appreciation for the authors who agreed to participate, not only for the reasons that you mentioned, but also because they took a risk by being involved in a potentially controversial project published by a very new press with a relatively inexperienced publisher in me and a relatively inexperienced editor in you. There were lots of reasons for people to steer clear of the whole thing, so to have such wonderful authors agree to share so thoughtfully was a real gift on their part.

I feel like our job at this point is to do their contributions justice by using the book to broaden the conversation around issues of appropriation to readers who might not have really grappled with those ideas, or who might have done so only in the context of a particular controversy. That would be my hope for the collection.

Kim Davids Mandar: Agreed. When I had the opportunity to work with Anna Bowen, Dan Evans, and Tamara Jong on the Bookish Radio podcast, it was a similar experience. Each conversation was a dive into an enriching perspective. From the feedback I heard, and from my own experience listening to the interviews conducted by my colleagues, it served to bring listeners closer to the authors, have a deeper understanding of the work, and in turn, fuelled their own creative process. I hope this collection might offer something of the same.

For those who I approached who didn’t want to participate, I totally get it. It’s a charged topic and a complex one. Diving in when we’re all so in the middle of our own processes is a vulnerable space to occupy. The stakes are pretty high, especially with this topic, as you point out. While there were a range of reasons and logic for authors to decline, people were generally friendly and encouraged me with the work. Or, at least that’s what they said to me directly. I took heart, even though at times I was feeling overwhelmed and doubtful.

I, too, hope that readers might be willing to grapple with the topic of cultural appropriation and the writing of difference more readily by reading this book. Especially emerging writers, such as myself. In some conversations off the record, I found that people could be dismissive of the topic because it felt nebulous, enigmatic, and dangerous. I also found that some seemed doubtful that there could be any progress made, given their perceived lack of space to explore and make mistakes. I hope this collection of conversations might be one example of how we might make some space for a more nuanced understanding to evolve. I look forward to an ever increasing number of creative spaces where the exploration will continue.

An especially potent gift from this project is that although I didn’t always feel like I had great questions to ask, the depth of each author in this collection led the interviews. As a result of their rich experiences and perspectives, each conversation holds its own gems. I greatly admire each of these authors. Their work is wide and varied, and not limited to writing.

One of the interesting aspects of my academic research about intercultural competence development is the connection between an individual’s process and collective process. As an individual evolves in their ability to not only perceive difference, accept difference, and find ways of understanding and connecting with difference in healthful ways, social networks similarly advance and expand. So, for me, I tried to keep that belief at the core of the work, and consider the potential readers of these conversations. It helped, as I tried to keep my head clear and listen carefully to the wise and generous authors who shared their thoughts with me.

JLH: And I think that’s especially important when you consider how quickly those social networks are changing, as our world becomes ever more globalized, ever more technologically and economically interconnected, ever more diverse, ever more aware of other categories of difference.

I mean, my father-in-law was African-American and grew up in Waycross, Georgia. My mother-in-law was from an Irish background and grew up in London, Ontario. They met in India, when they were both working overseas. My father was from an English-German background and my mother from a Scottish background. They both grew up on Manitoulin Island. Both my wife and I were raised in Guelph. Her family attended a Mennonite church. Mine attended a former Dutch Reformed church. So our eldest son is not only bi-racial, identifying strongly with various elements of both our families, but he also has a real love for Indian food and Dutch double-salt licorice inherited from both our family cultures.

Now, my son is far from an extreme example, of course, but that’s increasingly what people in our world look like. Their heritage is multiple, their cultural experiences are multiple, their identities are multiple, and we haven’t yet even talked about age, economics, ability, gender, identity, orientation, and so forth.

We need writing that’s able to engage with these complex identities in “healthful ways,” to use your words, rather than just erasing them or plunking down stereotypes in their place. And so we need real conversation about how to do that well. Or, that’s not precisely true, because real conversation has been going on for a long time and continues to go on, particularly among writers whose stories were and are being appropriated. What we need, rather, is for more people to be aware of that conversation, to listen carefully to it, and to reckon with their own responsibilities as readers and writers and publishers and so forth. And hopefully these interviews contribute something to cultivating that awareness.

KDM: Yes. Another challenge with this project is that it is in a form that is static and takes a long time to publish. While I lamented that reality a few times throughout these past months, I also value the gift of a resource that can be referred to and reflected upon slowly. Perhaps a reader or reading group might glean some wisdom that can serve their ongoing processes over time.

As for intersectionality, I can most certainly relate, and you’re right, it’s so much more the norm these days. If we decide to become blasé or superficial about diversity, it smacks to me of the burning of the rainforests in favour of monoculture farming. There can be a case for it, but what unfortunate loss would ensue, in my opinion. Why not savour and leverage the nuances of these intersectionalities instead?

It will, however, require a letting go of outdated forms of exclusion, oppression, and subjugation that result from narrow-minded structures (both conceptual and material). Are we willing to trust in a more enriching collective experience by allowing some of our existing literary habits and forms to be relegated to the past? Can we direct our significant creative capacities towards new structures, new platforms, processes, and ways of building the Canadian literary canon? 

Are we willing to trust in a more enriching collective experience by allowing some of our existing literary habits and forms to be relegated to the past?

These days of increased online connection and community response to shifting social demands reminds us of our interdependence and the value of unified action. Such collaboration requires kindness, patience, and love. Like the human body, strength and health can be fostered if each diverse system is given the space to contribute its share in service to the whole. The idea of unity in diversity can be thought of in the kind of collaborative reciprocity that a healthy body requires.

JLH: Right, but we also need to consider how the spaces we occupy are no longer so easily categorized . We’re no longer, if we ever were, just a “liver” or “elbow” or “nose.”

We may have grown up in the liver, but our parents were originally from the elbow, and our best friend is from the nose, and our partner is from the pancreas but identifies as being a blood cell, and we make little baby cells that don’t really see themselves as belonging to any one particular organ at all.

This is obviously pushing the analogy beyond itself, but I think if we’re going to understand something as complex as a body, and especially a body that's undergoing the kind of cellular transformations that our culture is, the job becomes telling the story of the particular place where we are, not as a pristine representatives of any one space, but as close observers of the complex spaces we happen to occupy at the moment, with all their subtleties and uncertainties. Which isn’t at all to devalue the various cultures, experiences, traditions, and identities that intersect in each of us. It’s just to admit that those things are always complicated, always evolving.

And this inherent complexity puts a responsibility on all of us, particularly on those of us who largely occupy places of privilege, to be constantly reexamining the spaces and roles that we occupy, listening to those who occupy other spaces, learning how to negotiate those relationships with love and respect and justice.

...I think if we’re going to understand something as complex as a body, and especially a body that's undergoing the kind of cellular transformations that our culture is, the job becomes telling the story of the particular place where we are, not as a pristine representatives of any one space, but as close observers of the complex spaces we happen to occupy at the moment, with all their subtleties and uncertainties.

KDM: It’s tricky to try to explore complexity in words, right? Especially when, as you say, everything is evolving, in a state of flux. I feel like this is bringing us full circle to the quote I shared earlier: “How great the multitude of truths which the garment of words can never contain! How vast the number of such verities as no expression can adequately describe, whose significance can never be unfolded, and to which not even the remotest allusions can be made!”

One of my takeaways in both this project and my research is the value of keeping each strategy within the confines of its value. For example, conversations, articles, books, videos, etc. have their place. But when it comes to lasting shifts in relationship patterns, action and connection on a variety of levels is needed, right?

If we don’t dive too deep into our own pontifications and manage to build friendships with those who are not in our accustomed social groups, we might learn more about what equity is really about. We can expand our notions of empathy towards love, forsake attitudes of superiority and condescension in favour of humility. We can transcend blame and move a little bit closer to reciprocal responsibility for the ushering in of approaches that embody greater justice in the literary world. We can make space for healing and truth-telling. We can learn about forgiveness. We can listen more and expound less. We can surrender our stranglehold on power and allow energy to generously flow throughout the system. I love this reframing of the idea of power, which is a concept in the capacity development field that I am learning about, something I’ve reflected on a lot in my research work:

Associated with power in this sense are words such as “release,” “encourage,” “channel,” “guide,” and “enable.” Power is not a finite entity which is to be “seized” and “jealously guarded”; it constitutes a limitless capacity to transform that resides in the human race as a body. (Universal House of Justice, To the B ahá’ís of Iran, 2 March 2013)

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