I have no place

On Métis identity, temporality, and (de)territorialisation

Where am I from? What a tricky question. There are four answers I typically give depending on the context. The first simply answers the question of my permanent address: I am from Pitt Meadows, British Columbia. The second answers the question of my origins: I am from a small town near London, Ontario. The third explains my family’s origins: my family is Métis from northern Alberta and French-Canadian from southern Québec. Lately, however, I have been increasingly inclined to answer that I am from nowhere in particular. 

As a Métis person, the question of place and time is a thorny one. As the aims of Truth and Reconciliation are ever more present in the minds of everyday Canadians, a push to define Métis identity and see it represented in the public sphere has grown—but it has also begun to sow conflict among those who might claim it. Some generally accepted truths regarding the Métis identity are as follows: the Métis people experienced ethnogenesis in Manitoba’s Red River Valley sometime in the 1870s; it is a distinct culture that is generally the product of unions between French fur traders and Indigenous women from various nations; and our history is one of struggle against the colonial government and rejection from other ethnic groups.

Beyond that, there are many questions to be asked, and for good reason. For example, must one trace their ancestry to the Red River settlements to be Métis? Is there such a thing as Piyii Michif, the Métis homeland? Is it accurate to say that Métis communities are historically Catholic? What is the Michif language? Is there a historical Métis presence in Ontario? What about British Columbia? What are the implications of the increased representation of Métis-identifying people in government and leadership of general pan-Indigenous environments? The answers to these questions define the Métis people’s relationship to Indigeneity, our First Nations relations, and the colonial nation-state. They shape the modern Métis subjectivity in ways that influence its place in political, economic, and social discussions. 

These questions came to light at a recent summit on Indigenous identity fraud. The Métis Nation of Ontario (MNO) was barred from this event on the grounds that it is an organization guilty of Indigenous identity fraud and lateral violence towards First Nations communities. These charges, brought forward by Manitoba Métis Federation (MMF) and the Chiefs of Ontario (COO), are serious ones that need to be addressed, but the situation is more complicated than it appears. David Chartrand, president of the MMF, is currently being sued alongside his organization by the Métis National Council (MNC), of which the MNO is a member, for financial improprieties. Furthermore, MMF has been accused of attempting to rebrand itself as the national Métis government by the MNC, from which the MMF withdrew in 2021. This is just one incredibly messy instance of the unknowns plaguing Métis people across the country. 

The big question for me, of course, is that of Piyii Michif.  Does it exist? If so, where is it? Who is a citizen? Most importantly for many, does the Métis nation have a right to the land?  This matter emerged most prominently in 2018, when the MNC posted a map defining Piyii Michif as encompassing the prairie provinces, parts of the Northwest Territories, Ontario, and British Columbia. The map labelled the territories, broadly encompassed within the derisively termed “blue blob,” as a homeland that would be used to define Métis identity and prevent identity fraud in places like Québec and Nova Scotia—where there has been no historical precedent for the recognition of Métis communities. This map drew outrage from First Nations communities whose traditional lands were encompassed by the “blob,” and who found it disrespectful, even violent, for the MNC to label these lands as a Métis “homeland.” Personally, I agree. 

When reflecting on the territoriality of Métis identity, my thoughts often get caught up in my temporality. An interesting facet of being Métis is that there is no pre-contact time. I could not have existed in Europe, nor could I have existed on Turtle Island. My entire history is firmly rooted in the colonial era, and this is a fact about which I am deeply emotional. Unlike First Nation communities, as Métis people, we cannot claim that “we have always been here,” yet European and settler cultures remain too alien to us. We exist only because of colonisation. 

I often find myself thinking about the first relations between the coureurs-des-bois and Indigenous women, wondering whether their marriage was a loving one or even a willing one. While those early relationships may not have been adversarial, the period of peaceful coexistence would be short-lived. Were my foremothers raped by their white husbands? Did they resent their children? Were their marriages happy ones? Did they love their husbands? So many of my questions can only be answered by talking to them, but most of them are dead or estranged by my grandmother’s conversion to Protestantism, and my Cree is, at best, dubious. I do not believe in a Métis homeland because we do not come from France, and while our nation was born on Turtle Island, we are both the daughters of Skywoman and the daughters of colonial capitalism. As much as it is painful to admit, this land is not our birthright as Métis. 

This brings us back to identity fraud. Based on press coverage, the primary concern of the Assembly of the First Nations in Ontario (AFN-O) in the matter appears to be how the official recognition of the Métis Nation of Ontario (MNO) might affect First Nations land rights. As of right now, they oppose the current MNO claims regarding some Métis communities in Ontario. Yet, they also promote the verdict of R. v. Powley, which affirms Métis harvesting rights in the Sault Ste. Marie area, and serves as the precedent for Métis harvesting rights in other parts of the country, including Manitoba. This concern with the land is not unjustified. For too long, First Nations communities have been cheated out of their lands by any and all means, and it is certainly not the place of the Métis to join the fray. This is why I prefer to think of the Métis people as a diaspora community, rather than a people living in their homeland. 

Only in Alberta are there such places as Métis “reserves,” although they are called “Métis Settlements.” While there are historical Métis communities, many Métis people live in urban centres, not particularly concentrated in any central location. The Provisional Government established by Louis Riel and his contemporaries made sense at the time when there was a distinct spatiality to the communities he was representing. However, it is difficult to envision a modern equivalent. As a people, the Métis are like stars scattered across the sky, having moved around many times, and not only within that infamous “blue blob” on the MNC’s map. Métis identity is a slippery and tricky thing, and indeed, while we have been oppressed by colonisation and suffer from its legacy, we must not give in to believing that this gives us the right to the lands stolen from our First Nations cousins. If we as a people are to move forward, we need to recognise that we have not always been here. My immediate family has moved across the country twice in the past three decades. I do not have a homeland. I, as a person, have no place.