Law & Culture: Drawing Texts, Masks and Blankets into the Law School Classroom

One of the big questions for me over the past years (thinking about our Law School TRC obligations to learn and teach about Indigenous Law) has been the relationship between law and culture. Or maybe more specifically, how to talk about these relationships in the law school classroom.

In this post, I share some materials I tried out last year, materials that I think could be drawn on in a number of different classroom contexts. I pause for a moment to thank my colleague Professor Bob Howell, who (following a number of fun hallway conversations) invited me to explore some questions with the students in his Cultural Property class. Below are some notes on the three things we drew into the classroom:

  1. Law vs. Culture (in Legislative Texts)
  2. Legal Orders in Conflict: A BC case involving the sale of Hupacaseth Masks
  3. Legal Orders in Collaboration: Some comments on the Stewardship Agreement related to the Witness Blanket.

1. Law vs. Culture (Legislative Texts)

We began with questions about ‘law’ and ‘culture’ as important key words. Because the students in Bob’s class were working closely with both UNDRIP and UNDRIPA (new legislation affirming UNDRIP, and setting out a framework for its implementation in Canada)), I looked at those two texts more closely than I would otherwise have done, and got stuck on drawing comparisons between the two sections below. The column on the left (from UNDRIPA) makes an assertion about UNDRIP (the column on the right), appearing to simply draw it into the newer text. But the two sections are not quite identicial, and the differences can open space for a discussion about the key concept of ‘the legal’ and ‘the cultural.’

First, the text highlighted in green directs our attention to the VERB: in 2007, the verb points us at RECOGNITION of inherent rights. in 2021, the verb gives us an emphasis on the importance of this recognition.

The black portion of the text is identical in each version: the need to respect the rights of Indigenous peoples, including rights to lands territories and resources.

The purple text, which is the same in each, tells us where those inherent indigenous rights come FROM: “political, economic, and social structures”. In short, “structures” of the kind that are often seen as distinct from law (here, you can imagine the plethora of courses titled “Law and Economy”, or “Law and Society” or “Law and Politics”. ) At this point, one could generate class conversation about the ways in which law is or is not assumed to be distinct from these ‘meta’ structures.

The text continues, with the section highlighted in blue; this adds adds additional sources from which the rights of indigenous peoples might derive. Here, we move to culture, spirituality, history and philosophy. There is again room for discussion about the ways these forces (or accretions?) are important places for conversation and engagement.

What is particularly interesting to me is the text in red, present in the 2021 version and absent in 2007: “and legal systems”. Here, there is room for significant discussion in the classroom about the ways that this absence/addition makes visible the ways in which the law/culture divide can be deployed. What seems to be at stake here is how we understand these two important key words, as well as the assumption (2007) that Indigenous peoples have culture and NOT law.

From the perspective of legislative drafting, it is also interesting to think about the ways that the words “and legal systems” are added into the 2021 version ‘as if’ they had been present in the 2007.

The comparison of these two sections in the classroom needn’t lead to any conclusions (ie. which is the right or wrong way to approach the questions). The goal might simply be to help visibilize the different ways law and culture are discussed in these texts, and to remind the class that the relationships of law and culture might take different form in different legal orders.

2. Legal Orders in Conflict: The Case of the Cedar Masks

The second thing we talked about in class was a 2013 case in which a pair of Hupacasath cedar masks were (wrongfully) sold in an on-line auction. The nugget of the story is this: one person in a family (“X”) sold these masks to an online auction house. The auction house relied on the existence of the grandmother’s Will to determine that X had good title. That is, they presumed that the masks fell into the category of ‘household possessions’ that had been left to X under their grandmother’s will. The extended family disputed X’s claim, asserting that X was only a steward for the masks that were collectively owned. The auction house continued to rely on the will, and finalized the sale of the masks to an anonymous buyer. Unable to retrieve the original masks, the family held a public ceremony in which X was stripped of their name and title. A new mask was carved, and at the ceremony, the songs and dances that travelled with the older masks were attached to the new mask.

In the classroom time, I talked to the class about having used this case in the criminal law classroom, to ask how you would address the question of the mask having been wrongfully sold according to both Canadian Law and Hupacaseth Law. First off, even within Canadian law, how would the problem to be dealt with if it was understood as a Criminal Law problem (theft, fraud, possession of stolen goods). How would it be dealt with if it were understood as a problem of Property Law or of Wills & Estates? Further, is a mask (which has songs and dances that go with it) to be best understood as “property”, or also to be understood as related to practices of “governance”? You can also take up the question of Conflicts of Law? Whose legal order is to apply when people from multiple legal orders are engaging with the same object?

There are a cluster of newspaper articles you can look at to get a sense of the story, as well as a sense of how it has been talked about in the media:

In her work on Indigenous Property Law, Val Napoleon has posed a number of really helpful questions we can start asking (particularly when it comes to working with societal and cultural production):

  1. What kind of property is this?
  2. Who is the owner?   
  3. What is the underlying purpose of the property?  
  4. What is the legal harm or injury? 
  5. What are the range of historic and present day remedies?

These are great questions to give to the students as they engage with the case. It really helps make visible the power of focusing on QUESTIONS that students might start asking (rather than focusing only on answers to questions). It can provide a richer scaffold for discussion about the strategies for working forward. In the classroom context, we likely spent 20 or so minutes in a rich discussion of the challenges (and of the ways that the problems in this case could help the students think about the international law dimensions of challenges in our own backyard). NOTE: I am currently trying to write the story of these masks in a chapter for an upcoming book on Indigenous Intellectual Property. If you want to see a draft of that article, click here.

3. Legal Orders Working Together: The Witness Blanket Stewardship Agreement

The third thing we looked at in class was “The Witness Blanket, a monumental piece of work by Cary Newman. The Witness Blanket, which is comprised of more than 900 objects and stories, was produced in response to the Indian Residential Schools Settlement, and is currently lodged at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights in Winnipeg. There is a really great website, on which you can see images of, and take a tour of the The Witness Blanket. Also, here is a link to another post on this blog that provides a number of teaching resources for drawing the Witness Blanket into the law school curricula.

One of the advantages of talking about the Witness Blanket next was to make space for looking at more transformative and collaborative responses to the kinds of difficulties made visible in the masks case. This gave us a chance to focus not only on the punitively focused judgement of the past (ie. what went wrong, who was guilty, etc), but also on more positive forward loooking mechanisms to provide joint responses even in the face of different legal orders and different understandings of things.

One of the particularly astonishing things about the Stewardship Agreement is that, rather than having a “choice of law” clause, it makes explicit that it is to be governed by TWO legal orders!

This clause generated some interesting conversation, as we discussed the possibilities that emerge where the focus of the agreement is not on the rights of those signing, but on the responsibilities of those signing to the substance of the agreement, in this case, their joint agreement to care for something (the Blanket itself is the only entity with ‘rights’ under the agreement, the other clauses deal with obligations and responsibilities).

In class, we spent our time primarily with the written text of the Agreement. Depending on the time you have available in class, Here is a screen shot of (my annotated copy of) the first page of the agreement, which asserts that participation in ceremony (culture? law?) is necessary to the full realization of the agreement. That is, the divide between law and culture is made porous (or rather, the law IN culture is made visible).

The agreement makes BOTH 1. written agreements (the stuff of our contracts classes) and 2. cultural ceremony (generally not taken up in law school classrooms) central to the business of doing legal work together. It does NOT presume that written agreements belong only to settler citizens, and ceremony only to Indigenous citizens, but provides a scaffold through which people from different legal orders can draw the tools of their law into engagement with eachother.

We spent a bit of time talking about the oral/ceremonial part of the agreement. Having been present at the ceremony, I could tell them that the experience was affectively powerful. But, to make visible to them that ceremony can be powerfully experienced for people outside of our law community, I have also pointed people to a blog post by my mother, Arta, who also came along to the ceremony: in that post, they can get an ‘outsider’ report on the experience, as well as see someone outside of the law school doing the work of witnessing, and sharing with others both what they saw, and their experience of ceremony.

In our conversation about the oral ceremony, we also discussed the requirement of the written agreement that there be a renewal of the oral ceremony and feast every 4-5 years. This pattern of repetition can be a particularly helpful model in the context of agreements involving “INSTITUTIONS”. If one keeps in mind that the Directors of CMHR (or most other organization or governmental body) can completely change every 4-5 years, you can see that there is a problem of MEMORY. If all your directors change or move on to new jobs, then you are left with a group of folks who do not carry affect laden memories from the power of ceremony. By organizing for a regular return to ceremony, you can create the conditions for keeping the agreement alive with Institutions and Institutuional Actors in ways that are not possible where you rely completely on the (important by not affect laden) written text.

In the context of the classroom, this also opened space for a conversation about student engagement with a variety of ceremonial contexts (both Indigenous and non-Indigenous), and the ways that we can better engage with the ways that these cultural/legal practices generally incorporate a rich tapestry of sounds, visual fields, movements and practices of witnessing.

There you go. It would be great to hear about things others are trying in their classrooms, or about other resources you have drawn on to think through the productive relationships of law and culture.

LAST NOTE:

If you want to do more work with the students on how ‘law’ may be differently structured in legal systems and legal orders (while still being ‘law’), then take a look at Val Napoleon’s article, “Thinking About Indigenous Legal Orders.” In Dialogues on Human Rights and Legal Pluralism, edited by René Provost and Colleen Sheppard, 229-45. Dordrecht Heidelberg New York London: Springer, 2013.

Property, Dancing, Drumming and Regalia

(August 15, 2016)

On my mind are the TRC recommendations on Indigenous Laws, Art and Culture (check out #50, and #83-#85)

songhees wellness centre
Songhees Wellness Centre – photo by Rebecca

circle programI was reflecting on these recommendations this summer, while at the Songhees Wellness Centre. attending the 2016 CIRCLE Gathering  (CIRCLE is the Centre for Indigenous Research and Community-Led Engagement at UVic).

Culture was placed front and centre at the workshop.  We had the opportunity to tour the centre, to talk about the physical design of the space, the incorporation of art, and bilingual sinage in English and Lekwungun supporting programs of language revitalization.  We also had the opportunity to have the IMG_20160607_173432Songhees Dance Group come and share with us a number of songs and dances. It was such a pleasure to watch the group, which included men and women, and dancers of all ages (adult, youth and children).

The second day of the gathering was explicitly focused on Culture.

As part of the day, members from the group returned, to talk with us about the group, its history, dancing, drumming, and regalia.  They also invited us to ask them about any questions we had.

IMG_20160608_141056

What was interesting was both the generosity of the Songhees dancers in opening up the space for questions, and also the difficulty of us as participants beginning to know which questions to ask.

The conversations were super helpful me, and to other participants, as we talked together about the challenges and fears people have around sharing culture.  What is the difference between cultural sharing, for example, or expecting to have cultured ‘staged’ for you? (for a great post on this question, see Jess Housty’s blogpost “I Am Not The Indian You Had in Mind”, or Georgia Lloyd-Smith’s blogpost on “Respectfully Working in Indigenous Communities”

As we focused in on the regalia that had been worn by the dancers, I could also begin to see that we as participants were working to articulate differences between questions that are about ‘law’ or about ‘culture’, and questions that dealt with questions of history, authenticity, legitimacy and change.  Certainly, these questions (and answers) helped me to see both ‘more’, and ‘less’ in the regalia.  That is, I could see it was important to avoid romanticizing particular choices in design, but also to see the range of differences in the ways that different people made choices in ways that made the regalia both meaningful, and connected to history, and ‘theirs’.

One of the questions was of course about photographing.  In response to a question as to whether or not it was possible to take photos of the regalia, we were told, “well, you should ask the person whose regalia it is”.  This answer really hit me.  It was odd (being struck by the answer) because  that answer was in some ways so obvious.  Yes.   Ask the person whose regalia it is.  In this case, the IMG_20160608_141106regalia belongs to Gary Sam, and Gary said yes!

Gary, it turns out, is really something of an excellent beader (and talked to us about learning from his granny).  Indeed, not everyone in the group did all the work on their own regalia, and several of the people noted that Gary had helped out with their own (thus some awesome jokes about a possible new twitter hashtag, #GaryMadeIt!)

There is both more and less to be said, and there is lots more to learn, but it was clear to me that stepping into this space of drumming, dance and regalia can open paths for the necessary rethinking of property, ceremony, art and law that is ahead of us!

Wild Mushrooms or Wild Land: Do you have permission to pick wild food on “Crown” land?

How a mundane practice like mushroom picking can disregard or disrespect First Nations rights and title. And how education can help.

Earlier this summer, I stumbled onto a patch of resistance to reconciliation. My fellow settler neighbours did not agree that the “Crown” land behind their homes was the traditional, unceded territory of the Secwepemc Nation. My neighbours assumed that all non-reserve land had to belong to the government and therefore, what was on it, was theirs for the taking. This was despite a solid public school education on the history of how Canada was settled.

One of my takeaways from this interaction is that the education of First Nation issues needs to include discussions about how individual actions can respect First Nations rights and title. My neighbours knew the history of how Canada was settled and yet they assumed that all Crown land was Canada’s. This was despite recent new stories that the Supreme Court of Canada upheld a Specific Claims Tribunal decision that found that the Crown broke a treaty with the Secwepemc Nation and wrongfully took land from them (Williams Lake Indian Band v. Canada (Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development), 2018 SCC 4; see https://www.cbc.ca/news/politics/supreme-court-williams-lake-1.4516522). My neighbours and I live in a town that is literally on stolen land, and that big forests around us may be Crown land on paper but in actual fact it is the unceded traditional territory of the Secwepemc.

Not all places in Canada have the convenience of knowing whose land you live on and a Supreme Court case confirming that the land was wrongfully stolen. This information is accessible to everyone in my town and it made a splash in the news when the decision first came out. This information, coupled with the education that I assumed all my neighbours received about the historical injustice of colonialism, resulted in what I assumed was a common understanding that the land around them was belonging to the Secwepemc First Nation.

It was against this backdrop that we rolled into the early summer months, the first summer after the wildfires of 2017. For several months ahead of this summer, my husband Chief Russ Myers of the Yunesit’in band in Tsilhqot’in First Nation, had been working with his nation around setting up a permitting system for picking wild mushrooms in the Tsilhqot’in traditional territory (http://www.tsilhqotin.ca/Portals/0/PDFs/Press%20Releases/2018_05_18_MurshroomPermitPR.pdf).

The Tsilhqot’in knew that there would be many mushroom pickers coming into the area and that the Province of British Columbia would not regulate them. It was up to them to create a system to ensure that the mushrooms were picked in ecologically sustainable areas.

This system had already been announced when my neighbours made their own announcement on Facebook; these women had recently returned from the traditional territory of Secwepemc Nation and had picked basketfuls of wild mushrooms. They were happy to get some healthy, organic, (free) non-GMO food.

Their glee at picking wild foods was shocking to me. I sent them messages, asking if they secured permissions from the Secwepemc Nation. My fellow settler neighbours were either silently cold or hotly angered at these questions. One woman responded to my suggestion by posting her outrage on Facebook. My other neighbours chimed in. The 93 comment thread lay clear that many people believe that it was their right to pick wild mushrooms on “Crown” land.

When I saw this, I was reminded of a few paragraphs that the Chief Justice McLachlin wrote in the Supreme Court decision, Tsilhqot’in Nation v. British Columbia, [2014] 2 SCR 257. I had been reading this decision earlier in the year, and paragraphs 114-115 always struck me as infuriating. In these paragraphs, Chief Justice McLachlin, speaking for the Court, assumes that all non-reserve and non-treaty land must belong to the Crown because to assume otherwise would leave “no one in charge of the forests that cover hundreds of thousands of hectares and represent a resource of enormous value.” This assumption overlooks the number of treaties that were made and broken by the Crown, such as in the Williams Lake case. It also overlooks the evidence that we have that many First Nations in Canada were “managing” the forests and lands without Crown approval or knowledge. These Nations did this because they had been doing it for hundreds of years prior to colonial settlement.

It’s a funny thing to see the Chief Justice and a disgruntled white lady on Facebook arrive at the same blind spot. Two people, with radically different knowledges of the law, First Nations and history, both arrive at the same, unsupportive, assumption: if I don’t know this is Native land, then it must be Crown land.

Most of the land that we have today emerged from the historic wrongs that we all learn about in school. In schools, students look at these wrongs and perhaps will look at the current legal and political systems designed to address these wrongs. I think that this leaves students with an idea of what governments or industry need to do, but it doesn’t give the students a sense of what they need to do as individuals to respect the First Nations whose land they live on. How to live ethically if the land that you live on is stolen?

To ask permissions from the First Nation to harvest wild food is a practice that is small but potentially impactful. How one asks for permission to harvest wild foods is a delicate act; it requires taking the time to learn whose land it belongs to, to reach out and contact that First Nation, to listen and really try to hear the response, which might be in a language which is not yours. This process may not be easy, and there probably is not a universal approach. But by even trying to do this, settlers are showing government and industry and all our neighbours whose land and laws we are choosing to follow. An education that connects historic wrongs with how individual actions can help reconcile the past is one way that we can get other settlers to begin this kind of practice.

After I had sent my neighbour the questions, the Secwepemc Nation came out with a map of the areas where mushroom picking was allowed. Other Secwepemc bands have also put up signage instructing mushroom pickers and buyers that they were in the unceded territory of the Secwepemc people. In a move that shows how deeply people recent “Crown” land from belonging to Fist Nations, one of these signs outside of Lac Du Boise Grasslands Park near Kamloops was vandalized with a violent and crude message (https://www.kamloopsmatters.com/local-news/education-is-the-only-answer-to-ignorance-band-chief-responds-to-racist-comments-found-on-vandalized-sign-near-kamloops-973042).

How settlers pick wild mushrooms and other wild food can be a case study on how individuals can take small steps to recognize and reinforce (or deny and erase) First Nations right and title. Teaching the “Big History” or “Big Law” of First Nations rights and title is important, but may not be enough. In these lessons, there is an opportunity to also interrogate what mundane, everyday practices that settlers may be doing that disregards First Nations rights and title. It is in these small acts, as simple as picking a blueberry, or talking to your neighbour, that can help us all carry the responsibilities of reconciliation.

 

Top photo: Wild mushroom, known as a morel, growing on Fox Mountain, on Secwepemc territory, in Williams Lake, Spring 2018. Photo credit: Frances McCoubrey.
Many thanks to Rebecca Johnson and Gillian Calder for their helpful and patient edits and suggestions. 

Songs of Law? — Thinking about Indigenous and Settler Laws on the Use of Music

 

Sometimes I wonder if life in a law school doesn’t involve a “Midas Effect” — that is, everywhere you turn, everything you touch seems to involve (or become?) law.  I have been noticing this myself with respect to the law school’s ongoing obligations under TRC Call to Action #28.  I have been increasingly noticing how often questions of Indigenous Law seem to be in my field of vision.   Or perhaps I am only now beginning to see/acknowledge what was there all along?

Here is a specific.   I was on a phone call with my sister this morning, and the conversation (which was focused as it often is on activities with kids) moved from stories about the family dog, to piles of laundry and Orange Shirt Day and finally turning to the Louis Riel Opera with the Nisga’a song in it.  What, said I?  A Louis Riel Opera with a Nisga’a song in it?!  I had missed that discussion (a list of links to media discussions about the opera follow below)

Louis-riel-festival-opera-de-quebec-3
http://www.quebecspot.com/2017/07/une-remontee-unique-dans-le-temps-avec-lopera-louis-riel/

As is our way, my inner interrogator emerged, and so the conversation turned to questions about music, appropriation, and intellectual property law.  It was not the conversation I expected, but it has really had me thinking all day.  And it had me thinking about how a piece like the Louis Riel Opera could open space for a discussion of Indigenous Law in a very particularized way:  that is,  in the context of a Nisga’a song being drawn into a Settler/Canadian piece of music.  We have here an encounter involving two legal orders, each of which has rules about the creation and performance of music.

I asked my sister if she would write up a few paragraphs that I could share on this blog, paragraphs that would capture the essence of our conversation, with its questions about what the Opera might have to teach us about law and legality.  She, still sometimes pressed to fill the role of ‘relatively compliant younger sibling’, agreed!

“THINKING WITH AND ABOUT MUSIC” – Mary Johnson

I am a settler who grew up on Treaty 7 territories.  I graduated from the University of Calgary with a Bachelor of Art in Canadian Studies.  I love Canada.  I love being exposed to Canadian art, music, and literature.   I now live in Ottawa/Gatineau on unceded traditional territory of the Algonquin Nation.  Because I live in the Nation’s Capital Region, I am constantly surrounded by opportunities to participate in cultural activities celebrating Canada and its diverse talents.  These opportunities were intensified in 2017 with the Canada 150 celebrations.  I often felt conflicted during these celebrations as I don’t think Canada’s nation-building efforts are to be celebrated as such.  We need to not only acknowledge the harm Canada’s nation-building efforts have brought to Canada’s Indigenous peoples, but we also need to recognize these harms are not only historical, they are on-going.  Every Canadian needs to be engaged in doing the work of reconciliation.

2017-04-27---LouisRiel-MC-0035
https://www.schmopera.com/webhook-uploads/1493319094895/2017-04-27—LouisRiel-MC-0035.j

With this in mind, I tried to be thoughtful and deliberate about my participation.  When I realized I would have the chance to take my family to see the Louis Riel opera, I wanted to attend. I love opera, and there is a not a lot of Canadian opera.  But I was also very aware that this opera would be infused with appropriation.  Before the performance, I had read about some of the innovative ways this 50th anniversary production of the Opera attempted to acknowledge this appropriation, including a Land Assembly, a mostly silent group on the ground, dressed in red to represent Metis and First Nations peoples.  For me, watching the Land Assembly bear witness through the opera was very powerful.

What I had not read about in advance was not expecting, and what perhaps touched me the most, was a pre-show in the lobby by a group of Nisga’a Nation singers.  The group then moved onto the Opera stage to open the show.  A musical highlight of the opera is the third act’s opening aria, Song of Skateen. The Kuyas lullaby is sung by Riel’s wife, Marguerite. As noted in the program, the song is actually a Nisga’a lament from the West Coast, incorrectly used by Somers and Moore (the composers of the opera) in this context. Nisga’a protocol dictates such songs must only be sung at the appropriate times and only by those who hold the hereditary right to sing them. To shed light on this, a prelude to the opera featured a group of Nisga’a Nation singers, who acknowledged the fact the song was taken from them, and performed a victory song of their own.

I think this example of the Louis Riel opera taking and misusing a Nisga’a song provides an opportunity to initiate discussions around compensation for the use of cultural/intellectual property.  Western intellectual property laws often focus on monetary compensation for the use of cultural property, or address use through licensing.  But what are other possibilities where monetary compensation does not come close to addressing the issue?  What other ways could we approach this situation?  How do different indigenous legal systems work through such conflicts?

MEDIA SOURCES/LINKS TO SUPPLEMENT A DISCUSSION?

  1.  Here is a short piece from the Queen’s Gazette,  interviewing Prof. Dylan Robinson (Canada Research Chair in Indigenous Arts).  Queen’s Gazette, “A dialogue on Indigenous law, song and opera” Monday, April 24, 2017 http://www.queensu.ca/gazette/stories/dialogue-indigenous-law-song-and-opera
  2. Michael Cooper, “Canada Turns 150, but a Silent Chorus Isn’t Celebrating” (April 19, 2017) New York Times, https://www.nytimes.com/2017/04/19/arts/music/canada-turns-150-but-a-silent-chorus-isnt-celebrating.html

 

Integrating property

Among McGill’s responses to the TRC recommendations will be a new property course that will integrate resources from common law, civil law, and indigenous traditions. This mandatory course will replace mandatory courses in Civil Law Property and Common Law Property. The change is part of a wider-scale program renewal – aiming to significantly enhance the student experience through changes to substance and modes of delivery – that we’ll start unrolling in September 2016. Since students won’t take the new course until their second year, we’ll first offer it in 2017-2018. Accordingly, we’re not able yet to give details, but I think our ambitious project is still worth sharing as sister faculties work through appropriate responses to the TRC’s call for action.

The property course will join other integrated or “transsystemic” courses, such as Contractual Obligations, Extra-contractual Obligations, and Family Law, that have formed pillars of the McGill Program since 1999. The new course represents a deepening of our commitment to legal education that crosses traditional boundaries. The course represents a deepening of our commitment in another sense, too, as we haven’t fully realized our ambitions for transsystemic legal education at McGill to reach beyond the traditions of the common law and civil law to embrace others, such as indigenous legal traditions. Property is especially crucial on this point, of course, as the effacement of indigenous conceptions of land use and belonging have played such a central role in colonialism.

Colleagues of mine will give shape to this course during the coming academic year. Already, though, our experience with integrating legal traditions in other courses allows me to offer several observations that I think will apply at McGill and that might be helpful as others reflect, debate, and dream.

First, it doesn’t work to wait until you’re fully ready for such an endeavour before deciding to do it. At a certain point, you have to commit and leap, trusting that you’ll get there and knowing that many of us work better under the healthy pressure that a deadline imposes. It’s a mistake to let perfectionism hobble the exercise.

Second, a course integrating two or more traditions, including indigenous legal traditions, shouldn’t and can’t be only or primarily a functional comparison leading to assessments of what is the ‘better solution’. Instead, it should and can aim to appreciate the traditions’ respective legal cultures, such as their forms of knowledge, evidence, and reasoning.

Third, be cautious about overarching narratives, which risk being simplistic – be they ones of radical difference or of fundamental sameness.

Fourth, it’s important to avoid translating one tradition into the technical vocabulary of the other. Relatedly, there will not be equivalents within one tradition for every legal idea encountered in another. Some students who wish to make comparative charts or tables will occasionally push you to tell them the equivalent so that they can fill in each cell. Sometimes the answer is that there isn’t one, or that we don’t think there is, or that we’re not sure.

Fifth, however you think about your tradition-specific courses, the ambition in an integrated course may well not be comprehensive ‘coverage’. The hope is that students will acquire an appreciation for each tradition and its resources such that they could begin researching and solving problems within it. But you likely will not ‘cover everything’ or even ‘cover everything important.’ Or, as a colleague said to me, maybe you can, but your definition of what is ‘important’ may change radically!

Transsystemic teaching requires humility and a willingness to take risks. It highlights and foregrounds what the study of law can and should be in general. It is a stimulating adventure, one that changes you as it changes your students. The experience at McGill – which we are keen to deepen as we act purposively in response to the TRC – has shown us that the payoff is worth the candle.