Interview by Amina Lalor

“This book is dedicated to Indigenous youth; within ourselves, and the ones who will break ground for our future.”
These are the words that open Voices of the Land: Indigenous Design and Planning from the Prairies, released in February 2021 by the Indigenous Design and Planning Student Association (IDPSA) at the University of Manitoba Faculty of Architecture. The publication features work by members of IDPSA alongside documentation of the group’s activities and interviews with design and planning educators, practitioners, and researchers. With a focus on Indigenous design and planning practice in the prairies, the book’s purpose is to inspire and create space for Indigenous youth in design education and practice.
I had the opportunity to sit down (virtually) with the four editors—Danielle Desjarlais, Reanna Merasty, Naomi Ratte, and Desiree Thériault—to talk about the publication. We spoke on their experiences as Indigenous students navigating design education, how that has inspired their leadership in claiming space for Indigenous youth, and how they imagine design education might transform to find a strengthened resonance with the voices of the land.*

*Reflections in italics by Amina Lalor

“Waterkeeper” collage by Desiree Theriault

Amina: What inspired the creation of the IDPSA and the Voices of the Land Publication?

Reanna: Naomi and I were entering our master’s when Danielle first introduced us to each other. We were finishing each other’s sentences—we had the same ideas, passions, and values. Together with a few other Indigenous students, we built IDPSA from the ground up as a space to carry our shared experiences and values as Indigenous peoples, including representation and inclusion. We started by addressing the curriculum and hosting events. My undergraduate years were pretty harsh. I felt very disconnected from myself and the faculty. It was important that this space feel belonging in an institution that made us feel alienated. The idea for a publication had been on our minds since Naomi and I founded IDPSA over two years ago. It came out of conversations about what we wanted to leave behind that would speak to our values, passions, and Indigenous identity. But ultimately, how could we inspire, impact, and positively guide the youth in our communities and expose them to the alumni that are leading the field, the current students emerging from their education, the educators they could encounter, and the firms that may offer career opportunities? I see Voices of the Land as this book that could show young Indigenous students the possible start to finish of their careers and inspire them to pursue something that a lot of us weren’t exposed to as youth and didn’t see as a career path.

Naomi: Reanna summarized it perfectly. One thing I’d add is that when we started, we had this intention but were stuck in this stage of, “Well, how do we do that?” We spoke with a woman in our faculty named Brandy O’Reilly who had been involved in organizing recruitment events for Indigenous youth in collaboration with the Faculty of Engineering. She told us about how she didn’t really have any relevant materials that she could give to the students at the events. There was a publication called Aboriginal Architectures that was published over ten years ago in the faculty, edited by Rachelle Lemieux and Ryan Gorrie, but Brandy mentioned that she only had a few copies left. I think that was, along with everything else, one of the biggest reasons we felt compelled to create something directed and dedicated to youth—to inspire and allow them to see themselves in design.

In my first year of design school in southern Ontario, I remember an instructor asking our class if anyone was Indigenous. I forget the context that led to the question, but I remember hesitantly raising my hand, barely above my shoulder. My heart beating forcefully, nervous to claim an identity that I was still making sense of, I glanced around the dim lecture hall and saw I was the only one. I don’t remember even hearing the word Indigenous again until two years into my program, when I enrolled in an elective course taught by Mohawk architect Bill Woodworth. Beyond that course, Indigenous design and culture were mostly absent from my undergraduate education. This has been slowly changing across Canadian universities, but it took years before I felt confident enough to explore and express my Indigeneity in the context of design. It’s become clear to me that similar experiences are common among many Indigenous students. Fortunately, IDPSA seems to have nurtured a post-secondary community where many Indigenous students are finding empowerment and connection with their cultures while navigating design education.*

Amina: How has your sense of identity evolved as you’ve progressed through your studies, and how has this impacted your design process?

Reanna: I used to feel a sense of shame around embodying or practicing my Indigenous identity. I was disconnected from who I was, my skin colour, and was never entirely proud of my identity. A lot of that shame and guilt affected my grades. At the start of university, I lacked passion for what I was creating, but I began to realize that Indigenous practice is its own field with its own processes and saw a chance to reconnect to my culture. Around that time, I met my partner, who encouraged me to attend ceremonies and spend time with other people who were also rekindling this connection. I started to research materials and ways of making lodge structures, ceremony structures, and traditional structures. I explored how to tie these into my architecture and design work. It began to flow and feel right. It felt good to develop that sense of pride and passion in what I was creating, and it was reflected in my grades.

Naomi: When we asked students to submit their projects, we had given them a question specifically on how your identity is tied to your design education, and I think that was an important question for us to ask as editors because we wanted to show how each student was at a different stage in understanding and unpacking their Indigenous identity. I think there are some stereotypes around needing to be knowledgeable about your culture to be able to claim your identity. But at the core of it, we’re all on this journey of reconnecting with who we are, and we will be for the rest of our lives. Personally, I had a lot of shame towards my Indigenous identity. I’m brown on both sides. I have this terrible joke where I say, “I’m both Indians.” I went to a predominantly white Catholic school when I was a kid; I had to face a lot of negative stereotypes directed towards both of my ethnicities. I didn’t know how to address this treatment, so I became this quiet and passive person. Throughout my undergraduate education, I didn’t know how to explore or understand my Indigenous identity and what it could mean in the context of design. I didn’t challenge anything and didn’t see exploring my own cultural identity as a valid form of expression. It wasn’t until I started working that I gained the courage to voice my disagreements or speak up against injustice. When I decided to come back to school for a master’s degree, I felt equipped enough to speak up about the things that had bothered me during my time in undergrad. Building the IDPSA community has empowered me on my journey to understanding my Indigeneity.

Desiree: I echo Reanna and Naomi’s responses. I’m white-passing, so growing up I often tried to hide my identity. However, I grew up practicing traditional ceremonies and teachings with my mother. All of that accumulated, and when I got into design school, I knew that I wanted to resurge that part of me. I started off in design with an educator who told me, “Design isn’t for you, you can’t make it about your identity.” It was tough at first. How do you break out of that cycle of impersonal design? It wasn’t until I got into the landscape architecture program that I came across an amazing prof who told me, “Take this time to really explore your identity through design, because this is the only time you get, and it’s going to provide you with the tools and resources for you to be the best designer suited to make meaningful, culturally grounded spaces. Everything that you’ve learned up until now is valuable and brings meaning, and you should apply those experiences to what you design, because your experiences can foster and nurture beautiful places.” That really stuck with me, and through the act of design I was able to undergo a process of resurgence. I try to bring the teachings and stories that I’ve learned throughout my life into my design work. I also try to honour the stories and teachings that come from the places that I design for.

Danielle: What you’ve all said is very relevant to a lot of Indigenous students in the faculty. For myself, entering undergrad, I had no idea what design or architecture was. I had this deep urge and desire to explore my own culture through my projects, I just didn’t know how to, and I had no one to ask in the faculty. At that time there were no Indigenous profs and few Indigenous students that I knew of. It felt isolating and lonely without the support I needed to explore my own culture. I think Naomi—another Peguis member—was the first Indigenous student I met in the school. Once I started integrating my culture and Indigenous issues into my projects, I got a lot of blank stares. It was hard not knowing what other students and profs were thinking. I became more comfortable with it as time went on and I decided to continue to pursue exploring my own culture and Indigenous issues in my design work. After I graduated undergrad and came back for my master’s and pre-master’s, Shawn Bailey, a Metis architect, was part of the faculty. I felt like the Indigenous identity of the faculty shifted in a positive way. I met Reanna and a lot of other students and I just felt very supported knowing that I now had people with whom I felt comfortable discussing things that I couldn’t discuss before.

Canoe perspective rendering of “Nibi Studio” by Danielle Desjarlais

As design schools like the University of Manitoba begin to include Indigenous content and pedagogy, and hire Indigenous faculty, Indigenous students are finding belonging within curricula that have long excluded them. For Indigenous students, not being able to see themselves reflected in the education system can be traced directly to settler colonial erasure. Any continued absence of Indigenous knowledge and perspectives from our institutions only perpetuates the violence and assimilation efforts that have, for centuries, impacted the peoples and lands of Turtle Island (North America). To restore Indigenous voices in the education of the practices that physically shape the land that we all inhabit builds the capacity for Indigenous students to carry their ancestral knowledge forward to benefit the generations to come.
Indigenous approaches to design also offer pathways for much needed environmental protection, community care, and climate resilience for all students. They encourage a shift in perspective of how we see ourselves in community with other beings, both animate and inanimate, and how we see the role of design in framing our relationships with each other and the land we inhabit. In Voices of the Land, the editors asked Indigenous alumni and practitioners to define Indigenous architecture, design, and planning. Knowing that the editors have spent a lot of time thinking about this themselves, I wanted to hear their own perspectives on what distinguishes Indigenous design.*

Amina: What qualities or values do Indigenous architecture, design, and planning embody for you?

Danielle: I think qualities and values of Indigenous design emerge when exploring my own culture while working on a project. I think my most powerful projects come from connecting with the land, exploring local materiality, and telling the story of the land and the people of the land. This process allows me to be the voice for the people that may not have a voice and perspective in the design world.

Desiree: I’m on the same wavelength as Danielle. Storywork for sure. It’s about creating space for meaningful design that is contextualized to the people of the land, to the earth, to the sky, to the rocks; everything matters in that space, and everything weaves together to tell stories. They’re all passed down from generation to generation and tell the story of our earthly systems. And so, it’s important to embody those stories within the designs of spaces, especially for me, coming from a landscape architecture background. We want to make sure that history is upheld. Especially for histories that have been lost, reclaiming them is important.

Reanna: I agree with everything that Danielle and Desiree said regarding land-based practices and how that influences what we create. It’s practicing the teachings passed through generations about protecting the land and being sensitive in what we’re creating and how it could impact the living beings in a place. It’s ultimately about how we can use whatever we create to be sensitive, to be gentle, and humble. This teaching underpins all layers of culture and Indigenous practices.

Naomi: Storytelling is one of the most important qualities that I would emphasize. I also think that we’re typically taught to think about design, especially about landscape, as part of this terra nullius. Seeing the land as this empty opportunity. I think a shift in the conversation is important: that in fact, terra nullius doesn’t exist, and it’s unethical. It’s necessary to recognize that there are ecological systems tied to the land, cultural systems tied to the land, and experiences tied to the land. That’s something that I’m working on and trying to understand for myself. But for a lot of these conversations that we’ve had, and just meeting these great Indigenous designers, I’ve been thinking a lot about how we can interact and understand the land in an honourable way in design.

As Danielle, Desiree, Reanna, and Naomi all emphasized or alluded to, storywork is an important part of listening to, learning from, and creating on the land. Stó:lō scholar Jo-ann Archibald explains that Indigenous storywork honours the value of traditional and life-experience stories as conduits for learning and meaning making. (1) The sites where we build embody stories formed from the relationships nurtured between the land and Indigenous peoples for millennia. Honouring Indigenous methods in design calls us to seek out these stories from our Elders, Knowledge Keepers, community, and the land itself so that we may build a deep understanding of the places where we design. Only then can we learn how to respectfully create on the land, continuing its story.
Like Naomi, I often find myself dreaming about how we might better interact with and understand the land through design. While the important work of Indigenization and decolonization continues within established post-secondary institutions—with great help from student-led organizations like IDPSA—I often wonder what Indigenous design and planning education might look like if it were created beyond the bounds of established colonial education systems.*

“Nibi Knowledge” collage by Danielle Desjarlais

Amina: What do you envision an Indigenous design and planning program could look like, if you were to design the curriculum from the ground up?

Naomi: Learning would be on the land, multidisciplinary, multigenerational, and collaborative. It would involve community, with elders and youth. I sometimes dream about what that could look like.

Reanna: In the studio we are developing, we focus on cycles of the earth rather than solely structuring our design process around typical formats like site analysis, schematic design, design development, and construction documents. For example, the moon is embedded in how we harvest and practice ceremony, like the Maple Sugar Moon, which describes the time of the year when sap from the maple tree can be harvested. Like this, we consider the earth’s cycles, the seasons, and the practices within each of those cycles. In terms of design school, land-based processes can be integrated into all levels of learning and design, like technology, history, and electives. And they can each underpin Indigenous values and be integrated in some form or way. It’s very ambitious, but I’m working on it.

Desiree: It’s definitely about decolonizing the process of design and making that space a lot more representative of all the unique, diverse students that we have in our program. Especially when we are not just designing for one specific type of culture or person. We’re designing for so many different types of people—beings, and not just humans! It’s very important to keep all of that in mind. The first step is learning on the land. You learn so much from the land that you don’t in a classroom. Another step to building up a curriculum is humility—an integral Indigenous teaching. Often in architecture and planning, we are taught with an air of, “We know what to do, we know what’s best.” Being humble about how you are designing and being very intentional about what you’re designing (and by the same token, understanding that you might not know what’s best) is critical to nurturing good design. Bringing that forward into a curriculum provides space to think deeply about what you’re designing and its impact for future generations.

Danielle: Just to add to this, last year when I was working with Shawn Bailey’s studio as a student, I was the only Indigenous student and there were a lot of people that knew nothing about Indigenous culture—which is totally fine, that’s totally understandable. I think a studio can and should be for everybody. It should create opportunities to learn—not just for non-Indigenous people, but also for Indigenous people. I made some great friends, and it was just nice to see non-Indigenous students be so willing and wanting to learn, totally embracing the community and land we were working with.

***As the number of Indigenous and decolonial thinkers within design and planning practice grow, I am excited to see how post-secondary design and planning programs will continue to transform across Turtle Island.

A resource in more than one way, the Voices of the Land publication has also raised funds to facilitate a series of Indigenous youth workshops.***

Amina: I was wondering if you could tell us more about the workshops and programs that you have planned.

Naomi: Due to Covid, we haven’t been able to host anything just yet. The purpose of the workshops will be to introduce youth to design. We’re looking at partnering with some local organizations or local high schools. Our intention is to get youth into making. It won’t be lecture based, where we’re talking to them about design. Instead, we’ll be giving them materials and tools: “Here’s birchbark, glue, and some sticks. Let’s make something!” And then we’ll talk about the process and what it means to them, and really get them thinking about design as a career option. I think it’d be amazing if they’re thinking directly about going into architecture, landscape architecture, planning, or interior design. So, our intention with those workshops is really just to create that platform for youth to practice and explore design. The pandemic has slowed us down, but we’re excited. I should also mention that with each purchase of a book at $20, one hundred percent of the proceeds are going towards funding these youth workshops. We are really grateful that our book has been well received and it’s been shipped all over the world. There have been a lot of copies purchased, so we’re in a healthy position to run quite a few workshops.

Reanna: One of the discussions that we’re having right now is to have the workshops cater to all four departments that we showcased within Voices of the Land. Architecture, landscape, interior design, and city planning each have their own strategies of integrating Indigenous knowledge and looking into ideas of making. And hopefully we’ll have each person that was showcased within our book present at the workshops to meet youth and share their work but also, they’ll be able to help the youth in their process and influence youth to gain an understanding of making.

Amina: Finally, what advice would you offer to a young Indigenous person just starting out in design education?

Desiree: Take a moment to look around you: the way trees are planted alongside a road, the parks that you visit, the path below your feet, the buildings that you enter, the spaces that you’re in every day. Take note of those spaces, how they make you feel, why they make you feel great and inspired. You might notice something like a beautiful tree planted a bit closer to a path that provides the perfect amount of shade on a hot sunny day. It’s really about acknowledging the smaller details and how they can manifest themselves to bring comfort. Also, remember to be you and find your own creative way. A way that works for you, and inspires you to create those meaningful spaces that inspired you as you walked through them.

Danielle: That’s great advice. I wish I would have done that prior to entering design school. I’d also like to tell youth not to worry about knowing anything about design when going into design school. I didn’t know anything. A lot of people don’t even know how to sketch or draw, so that’s something you’re going to be learning in design school, that’s why you’re there. But if you want to learn more about that before school, just start by taking a pencil, sketch what you see—it’s actually a lot of fun. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself when entering a design school or classes or whatever you pursue.

Naomi: When I first went into design school, I didn’t know what landscape architecture was. I remember sharing my intention to go to architecture school with a good friend of mine, and she said to me, “Don’t you have to be good at math?” And I was like, “Oh, I don’t know!” That scared me. I wasn’t that good at math and I didn’t think I could sketch very well. All of these preconceived notions I had of architecture scared me. But you don’t have to know everything. You will learn. There are a lot of skills that you can learn to bring you along this journey in design that will help you express what you want to express, but don’t be dismayed by design school stereotypes. There are a lot of resources available to you and you can make it your own.

Reanna: Use the resources that are available within school and design education. And not just within design itself; there are many resources for the broader Indigenous community on campus. I used the Indigenous student centre as a safe space because I feared everything outside of it. It felt like home. Also, don’t be so hard on yourself. Design education is very demanding at times, but it’s important to realize you should also be working on yourself. You want to focus on your mental health, physical health, and wellbeing before all the other work. I wish I knew that before.

The four editors of Voices of the Land, (L-R) Reanna Merasty, Naomi Ratte, Desiree Theriault, and Danielle Desjarlais

I hope that you find inspiration, like I have, among the pages of Voices of the Land and all the insight that Desiree, Danielle, Naomi, and Reanna have generously offered here. Navigating post-secondary education is a challenge for many of us, and it is so important to find hope and support where we can. Throughout my work, I have tried my best to make space for Indigenous perspectives and advocate for change within the post-secondary institutions that I am connected to. Despite a lot of expressed support for transformation within institutions, this work often feels like an unrelenting up-stream paddle. Personally, I have struggled with maintaining my mental health, especially in recent months, like many others during this pandemic. Fighting a system that was designed with Indigenous erasure in mind is not easy. But what makes it worthwhile is the community that we build while doing this work together, and the space we create for the students yet to come. IDPSA is a glowing example of the important work that is possible when students come together with like-minds and hearts to form a supportive community grounded in the land.
Earlier this summer I found myself working on this article within the territories of the Saugeen Ojibway Nation, a visitor in the shade of a grand old cedar tree overlooking the Sauble River. In my state of exhaustion, being there was an attempt to recharge, to spend time with the land that so much of my everyday work is centred on. As I sat quietly, sunbathing dragonflies rested and fluttered in the afternoon light. A bold chipmunk, accustomed to feeding from human hands, had the nerve to patter across my keyboard while I typed. A hummingbird zipped by to sip the last drops from the feeder. The song of the flowing river washed over a cycling chorus of cardinals, blue jays, and chickadees. Listening closely in moments like these, overflowing with life, remind me of our place in an entangled web of beings. With the many harms that Indigenous lands and peoples have experienced, harms that continue to filter through our educational systems in the form of exclusion and racism, these moments remind me that we can all find healing in rebuilding connections with the land. Following the intentions of the Voices of the Land publication, I hope we will continue to find ways to design and create with great care for the land, learning from our ancestors before us and ensuring a future for the generations that will come after us. *

Endnotes

1 Two excellent introductory resources for the concept of story work are Jo-ann Archibald, “Invitation,” Indigenous Storywork, accessed September 10, 2021, https://indigenousstorywork.com/ and Jo-ann Archibald, Indigenous Storywork: Educating the Heart, Mind, Body, and Spirit (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2008).

Bio

Naomi Ratte is Pakistani-Anishinaabe and a member of Peguis First Nation. She holds a Bachelor of Environmental Design (2016) from the University of Manitoba and is co-founder of the Indigenous Design and Planning Students Association. She is currently completing her practicum year in the Master of Landscape Architecture program at the University of Manitobaand is working with Indigenous community clients as a technical researcher and landscape architecture intern at NVision Insight Group Inc.

Danielle Desjarlais is Ininew (Cree) and Métis from Peguis First Nation and St. Laurent, Manitoba. She is completing her final year in the Master of Architecture program at the University of Manitoba from which she holds a Bachelor of Environmental Design (2017). Danielle was recently part of the Indigenous Design Studio at Brook McIlroy, working on a diversity of projects with Indigenous clients.

Reanna Merasty is Ininew (Woodlands Cree) from Barren Lands First Nation. She completed her Master of Architecture (2021) and Bachelor of Environmental Design (2019) at the University of Manitoba, where she co-founded the Indigenous Design and Planning Students Association. Reanna works as an architectural intern at Number TEN Architectural Group, a research assistant for One House Many Nations, and a research assistant with the UofM Faculty of Architecture contributing to undergraduate design studio development.

Desiree Thériault is Métis from St. Boniface. She completed her Bachelor of Environmental Design (2018) and Master of Landscape Architecture (2020) at the University of Manitoba. Desiree is currently an environmental planner and landscape designer at Narratives Inc., where she works with Indigenous communities on ecological restoration, capacity building, and storywork.

Amina Lalor is mixed Vietnamese, Irish, and Red River Métis. She holds a Bachelor of Architectural Studies (2014) and Master of Architecture (2020) from the University of Waterloo, where she was one of three co-founders of the student initiative Treaty Lands, Global Stories. Amina has recently taught as an adjunct instructor at Waterloo Architecture and is the research project manager for Nokom’s House, an Indigenous land-based research lab at the University of Guelph.